Open

Do something daring
Like jumping from the skies
Diving with turtles
Or listening to your heart
Again.

Do something crazy
like colour your hair grey
Pack your bags and leave without a plan
or tell the truth.

Adventures are waiting in the wings
For you to tire out
Get drained, surrender
and then
be open.
Till
You begin the real one

Rhea

The Storm

He was a silent storm
With a beast in his head,
That stole his light right from him
And gave him dreams instead.

He dreamt of a world that wasn't, yet
And strived to make it so.
And the chaos of the storm strangely ,
Enabled him to flow.

She was a silent fighter
Who was always taught to share
So she held her breath when she was with him;
Just so he could have air.

She had to learn
To trust the storm,
To share of her strength;
and not from;
To breathe and not tame,
But ride the raging storm .

Rhea Dsouza

Ride to remember




It was one of those mornings when I was not in a mood for conversations. As I got into the rickshaw at Malad (my from destination)  and responded to the slightly raised eyebrow of the rickshaw driver with a, ‘Lokhandwala’.(to destination).  He got ready and moved into a straighter posture – good for him posture is very important I think, and I got comfortable and slid back into the seat for a peaceful time. 

Rickshaw rides often trigger my creative brain. My, ‘in the shower’- equivalent.
But Alas!! Whatever was going to appear in my head would have to wait. Because my driver suddenly felt like I needed company, and took it upon himself to offer that.

Madam ji, he started  - I know this tone that is not begging for conversations but is assertive in the most innocent ways where you cannot be rude - You said you want to go to lokhandwala.. 

yes I said.. You sure? Yes, I stated with a little more underline to the tone in case he thought I was unsure. He turned, slightly and said, much like Dhanno in Sholay or was it Basanti ?? ..I am always confused. Ah my creative brain is not dead. Yet!! I think. but back to my driver. “……My 108-year-old grandfather, who is still alive said it”.

I panicked. 
In my Sholay relapse  I had not heard what his grandfather said. I had a FOMO moment (Fear of Missing out) -  A little sheepishly I asked him to repeat feigning disbelief. (Ok. I am embarrassed a little).

He happily repeated. Now see madam, I asked you where you wanted to go, you said Lokhandwala (I was about to interrupt in exasperation - thinking of ...Basanti), but he quickly continued. Now, look at this. Since you knew where you had to go you could sit back relaxed in the seat and Listen to my story. But if if you did not know where you had to go. You would be sitting at the edge and constantly looking out of the rickshaw and your mind would be anxious and you would not be able to listen to what I was saying… so you see madam it’s really important to know where you are going in order to be present. To be Present one needs to know the destination

My mind had now gone quiet..there was a silence which drowned the cacophony of the busy Mumbai street. I was now alert and on the edge of my seat - wanting to hear more.. my curiosity and intuition have gotten the better of me -thank god.

What is your name (lame but at least I was demonstrating interest), Ramu he said after a brief pause, with so much dignity that it might as well have been Bahubali.. I mouthed the name Ramu.. making a a mental note of never to have name stereo types henceforth. Ramu. Ramu in most movies is the stupid servant.. This Ramu did not at all seem like that… 

ode to Shakespeare. What’s in a name..  Ooops!! I am drifting again.. 
Back to Ramu,

Ramu shared, his life story( I did not ask) -  he lived with his wife and two sons, dad and granddad. And that he was very happy.. 

‘Do you know why? Madam? “, he asked a rhetorical... I pause - not that I had the answer anyway - 
'Because, ... and then his voice took the tonality of a sermon, (Pravachan) – and he said something that made my head do some gymnastics. I pride myself in having a pretty agile mind, but even for me it took a few seconds,

Madam ji, he who is sad because of his own sadness is a happy man”. What do you mean, I asked - after 2 repeats of the sentence in my head (I needn’t have he was going to tell me anyway), I will now give you an example.

Ramu: My wife is very happy with what we have and what she has. But when our neighbour gets something new, she suddenly becomes unhappy with what we have. How come? I asked myself – Then I came to know, she Is not sad about her sadness; she is sad about others happiness. Therefore, if one can truly be sad just for his own sadness - is not in any comparison with the other and so, he is happy even if he is sad – mental gymnastics.

But after a few minutes of silence -  I was grateful for the sudden traffic, when Ramu had to maneuver and therefore could not speak. What Ramu said made a lot of sense. It felt like a penny drop… Silence once again…

I looked up after a while. I could hear the traffic once again. For once I was hoping my destination didn't come as quickly as I have often wished it to.  Ramu was not done. He shared with me how he never worries about money or prays to god for anything. I wait.. knowing the pattern now… 

Life situation..questions(mostly rhetorical) …sermon....me pondering in silence .

Back to Ramu..and the present.

Ramu: Now look madam!!.. when I was 3 months old my mother (may god bless her soul), used to take care of me like all mothers do.. quick glance at me and a smile. At 3 months the baby cannot talk, cannot ask for what he wants but still the mother knows what his needs are and she provides.

In the same way (sermon voice) –there is a BIG Mother, God - who we are all children of,.. knows what we need and when and how much we need it. So like the mother, if he anyway will take care why should I ask?? He knows what I need more than I do. So I don't pry I just go on doing my job. Take people to where they want to go...

deep breath time - Just keep on doing my job- Take people where they want to go.

Wow that made sense I think. Thinking of all the times I have prayed for something, not gotten it and a little later got something much better. God does know me better than I do. Mental note. Do not stress when you don't get what you want.

I was almost there. Ramu looks at me and says,  I am sorry if I have bored you by talking so much.. and I reassure him that this has been a very insightful ride in a long time. I thank him, pay (curb my urge to give him more money - something tells me he may not like it - after all wisdom cannot be  bought - and I am not his mother) and get off.

Ramu smiles and goes off… lost in the hundreds of other rickshawalas, readying to take another person to where  he/she wants to go. 

I stand there on the super busy lokhandwala street thinking what a gift this was.. how many such Ramus drive people from one place to another, and how many sermons and life lesson they may be holding.

In the crazy traffic I could so easily lose these precious conversations, being on the phone or annoyed at the honking…

I finally had the energy to move from that spot -  I could not shake off the feeling  that I travelled with an angel. 

This will certainly be a ride to remember.











Freedom


Defined.
By design
Salve to an understanding
Freedom is caged.

Shackled by the slumber of doubt
Without faith
Freedom wastes away
Like the tepid water running out of a once fresh mango
Slowing turning the fruit into its own grave
Drowned.

Burdened by habits of thinking
Freedom waits
Like a puppet in the wings
For someone
To pull the strings.
Fear activated
It mimics life.

I am saddened by the victory
Of fear over freedom
Once again.

When will we be free to be free?
Rhea

Perforated



Cannot signpost in language
The pause that I fall headlong into ..
between two silences.

Holding conversations without a beginning or end.
I realize painfully
That somethings are like perforated experiences
Series of holes held together by blank pieces of paper
Delicate. So fragile.
Holding the conversations.. the pages ..the book and eventually
The story together.
To be read and understood one day...
Someday.

Till then
I must resist the urge to tear off the page.,,
that seems loose..
and be patient.
Rhea

Wait

It was a closed book
Thick grey and very important looking
He lay it in front of me..
I could see the frayed pages ..one on top of the other
Read, re-read, stacked, marked, contemplated , and even ..slept upon....I guess.
I wait. Patiently ..I think ,
Time goes by .. shadows change.
We look at the book in-between , and then at each other
Waiting ..stretches the long pause in the conversation
I am silent ..and so is he, just like the grey book
Silence !!!
I am still waiting…
But now, No longer waiting still.
I begin to fidget, look around, long quick breaths escape unchecked..
He continues to look at me,does not move an inch, and then the book
He isn’t about to break the silence anytime soon ..I can sense that.
Time has some strange habits..
I notice my body beginning to contract inch by inch
I fidget to make space, to breathe ..
and in that shifting ..
I suddenly become aware of, the nature, of my waiting, shift
What was masquerading like patience was really, tolerance.
And as I hear the voices of the two Waits…
I hear..
Tolerance saying, “I am waiting ..Can we move on..?”
Waiting for things to close..
Patience saying, “I am waiting ..Can we move in…?
Waiting for things to Open..

Pause!!!
Waiting suspended for a bit
Taking a deep breath.. I smile,
Waiting now....
Not to move on - but to move in.

An Ode to the Bolero.