Tip-toeing out of my hotel room to surprise the rising sun.
Before starting the day, I feel a sudden urge to meet a long lost friend and sit with him , quietly, peacefully, for long hours and just allow our silence - especially his - to express what has been lost in the noise of my own speech. Today may be yet another good day to take a few steps back towards myself and rediscover the friend I lost some decades ago when I walked away one morning from my mother. All these years, he has stayed close to my mother, even as she was lost to me and to the rest of the world. This one fear has held me from going back to my friend who has always lived in the lap of my mother, a child like Jesus, an infant like Krishna: won't my mother ask me where did I lose the child that was hers before I walked away from her? If she does ask, all I will have to offer her in reply is this unabashed face which does not resemble the child who was born to her. That child - that long lost friend - still lives in the warmth of her lap. I will go out just now and take the first tremulous baby steps towards that lap and rediscover and reclaim the face I either lost or sold away in bazaars that auction faces cheap.
Here I come , mother. Together, we will have the sun for a toy - the same that you gave me once during my childhood - the same sun that would walk down from the eastern hills to touch your feet and wish you 'Good Morning' before it ventured out on its worldly sojourn. In his presence, I first saw my face reflected in you eyes. In his presence, I will again see my face reflected in the lake that lies beyond my hotel room - - that lake whose deep waters have always resembled an odd tear of compassion down your cheek when you saw a suffering child, an orphaned calf or a hungry cow and the like.
I will get up now as I hear the gentle ripple of the lakes' water, stirring perhaps to receive the easterly guest.
Part Two:
(In Badal vilage.) Away from city life, the resplendent sun rise still tip toes towards you up across open fields. Moon and Venus still engage in their little street plays. Away from city life, we still walk right into the wondrous moonrise. Away from city life, I still walk the moon to its Westerly hut.
Before starting the day, I feel a sudden urge to meet a long lost friend and sit with him , quietly, peacefully, for long hours and just allow our silence - especially his - to express what has been lost in the noise of my own speech. Today may be yet another good day to take a few steps back towards myself and rediscover the friend I lost some decades ago when I walked away one morning from my mother. All these years, he has stayed close to my mother, even as she was lost to me and to the rest of the world. This one fear has held me from going back to my friend who has always lived in the lap of my mother, a child like Jesus, an infant like Krishna: won't my mother ask me where did I lose the child that was hers before I walked away from her? If she does ask, all I will have to offer her in reply is this unabashed face which does not resemble the child who was born to her. That child - that long lost friend - still lives in the warmth of her lap. I will go out just now and take the first tremulous baby steps towards that lap and rediscover and reclaim the face I either lost or sold away in bazaars that auction faces cheap.
Here I come , mother. Together, we will have the sun for a toy - the same that you gave me once during my childhood - the same sun that would walk down from the eastern hills to touch your feet and wish you 'Good Morning' before it ventured out on its worldly sojourn. In his presence, I first saw my face reflected in you eyes. In his presence, I will again see my face reflected in the lake that lies beyond my hotel room - - that lake whose deep waters have always resembled an odd tear of compassion down your cheek when you saw a suffering child, an orphaned calf or a hungry cow and the like.
I will get up now as I hear the gentle ripple of the lakes' water, stirring perhaps to receive the easterly guest.
Part Two:
(In Badal vilage.) Away from city life, the resplendent sun rise still tip toes towards you up across open fields. Moon and Venus still engage in their little street plays. Away from city life, we still walk right into the wondrous moonrise. Away from city life, I still walk the moon to its Westerly hut.
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