Musings on Faith...

Last week my Mother received a heartbreaking phone call from my Sister telling her about some news relating to a friend's daughter. The girl had passed away the night before in a motorcycle accident. She was only 17 years old. My Mother and I were in a state of shock about the news and our hearts really went out to the parents of the victims (the boy who was riding the bike also passed away on the spot). A few days later, on the 6th of April, would be nine years since my Father's passing and as I said to a friend, I hadn't, or rather haven't, really been able to get over his loss even after all this time. I cannot even imagine then what it must feel like to lose a child! All religions have some sort of coping mechanism to deal with death- but how does one even begin to turn to religion or to prayer at the time of losing a loved one when you question the very existence of God?

I remember when my Father passed away, I'd been cooped up in the hospital in Mumbai for 3 weeks straight, spending the nights with my Mother in a hospital room we had taken, and my days outside the ICU praying for his health. The day he passed away, he was actually supposed to be moved out of the ICU and into a regular room, and the family was so happy that God had listened to our prayers. On hearing the terrible news of his passing, my first instinct had been to curse God and to swear to never pray or have any ties to religion again, but 2 things happened soon after that made me weaken my resolve. The first one I've written about briefly in my article about my Father- The final rites for Hindus are to be carried out by the son of the family, but since my Father only had us 3 girls and since I was the youngest, I was able to perform the cremation. My Father, all my life, used to tell me about how he was convinced that a trip to Tirupati (a temple in India) where he prayed for Lakshmi (the Goddess of Wealth) is what resulted in me being a girl, despite my parents being convinced they were having a son. When I was born they decided to give me the same name they'd picked out for the boy- Kiran, and in a lot of ways, maybe because I was the youngest or just because I was a tomboy through my teenage years, they raised me as a boy. It was weird for me then to be acting out my final part as a son to my Father, as he'd rhetorically often asked me through my life, "Why weren't you my son? You should have been born a boy!" The second sign I received is when I went to Haridwar to immerse my Father's ashes in the Ganges, another tradition for Hindus. Since I was the won having performed the final rites, it was my duty to carry the process out to the end. Another thing my Father had told me all my life, was that I was extremely lucky for him and that every year, my birthday had always been extremely lucky day for him. While performing the final rites, the Pandit (Priest) had turned to me and said, "Do you know this is the best thing you could ever do for your Father? By completing this final step, you are putting his soul to rest." 15th April 2002 was that day- My 24th birthday. People can call it coincidence, but I know there is a weird symmetry to this Universe and to my Life.

Over this past weekend my Mother and I went to the house of the girl and my heart broke looking at her parents. It reminded me of a few years back when a friend of mine had lost his child and I was helping him realize the existence of God amidst the madness of the World. After our meeting, I'd come home and something about that had prompted a poem out of me which I'd like to share with you. It's entitled "Lost and Found."

We met at lunch. He did not cry
His eyes were parched. Drained. Dry.
Over sushi was where we spoke of loss
Over bite sized rolls dipped in soy sauce.

He spoke of his child. I talked of my Dad
We shared notes on tears and emotions we'd had
We thought of the length of life that they'd led
He spoke of his faith. Buried. Dead.

"Karma, Destiny, It's all in the mind,
Crutches to hold, while we lag behind.
I once was lost, but now understand
There is nothing to be found in the palm of a hand.

Gates above, Damnation below,
I believed that too, a long time ago
But now I've seen the light, my friend,
You have one life, and then a dead end."

"I'd worry," he continued, "How would she know,
Once she was lost, which way to go?"
"He'd find her," I argued, "and hold her hand
Haven't you read, 'Footsteps in the sand'?"

"He must need her," I said, "He must have a plan
That you and I cannot understand."
"Plan?" he said, "What could she do?
She was so small. My daughter was Two."

"You'll find your faith," I finally said,
Losing a bit of mine instead,
Over lunch, when he spoke of his kid.
I then squeezed his hand. I'm glad I did.

Poem of Mine entitled "The King and the Token"

Here is a poem I had written a few years ago based on a story that my then yoga teacher had told me. I've always said that I don't really write my poems.. they sort of just write themselves. Every now and then I'll feel a poem inside me itching to get out, and it's not uncommon for me to be woken up in the middle of the night and scribble one on a piece of paper. They usually come at phases in my life when I'm very pensive and going through stuff, and then might be followed by long periods where I can't even make up limericks. Unfortunately I'm going through the latter phase now which is both good and bad- bad for creativity, great for peace of mind!
Either way, back to my poem. This story obviously had a major impact on me for it to tumble its way out of me in rhyme. It's called "The King and the Token" and I hope you like it!

My teacher told me of a story

Folklore it could be, or a fable

Of a mighty King, in all his glory

Who posed a question to his table

of Wise Sages, Masters, Ministers, Men

"Is there a tool of significant meaning

Of use to me at all times when

The Sea is calm or shit's hitting the ceiling?

For all the times I'm weak or strong

Find me that tool, search far and wide

For a great power, that will belong

to me, And act as my guide."

Potions were brought, scriptures heard

But in the end the tool was chosen

A piece of paper with enlightened words

to Keep close to him. The perfect token.

One day his Kingdom was attacked

The King fled, fearful for his life

The piece of paper he did extract

To help ease his terror, in the strife.

He read the words, just one time

Receiving the strength to surpass

the war, Saved by just one line-

"This too, my friend, shall pass."

Hiding in a crevice in the ground

The King stay sheltered from the violence

The battle was fought, he was not found,

He emerged victorious amidst the silence.

The years flew by, the Kingdom shone

But the King, he knew, that would not last

At the pinnacle of success, he had but one

reminder, That that too would pass. 

My teacher continued, "And this is how

I convey my most important teaching

The present's all we've got, Stay in the Now

But remember, my friend, that too is fleeting."

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(This poem is my property only and may not be copied, reproduced or distributed in any way without my prior approval. Thanks!)

A poem of mine entitled "Fate"

Aah.. astrologers. I absolutely LOVE them! Whether they are in the avatar of palmists or tarrot card readers, leaf readers, face readers, Fortune tellers, Gypsies, Psychics or anything that can remotely tell me about what my future will hold, I want to go see them. Now a lot of people know of my mini obsession and ask me whether I REALLY believe in them. For me, that's not even the point. I will never visit an astrologer of any sort who is known to be the bearer of bad news, no matter how accurate he/she is. I want them to tell me my life will be great, blissful and problem-free! Most of the time, I use my faith in astrologers to quite an interesting end- I believe that if they DO have the powers to predict my destiny, then I have the powers to change that destiny if I'm not happy with it. Yes, I do believe in Destiny and do think some things are fixed events, but I also believe that we have the ability to change a lot of stuff around those 2 or 3 major events, and choose our own way and our own path to get us there. Makes sense?
A few years back I was torn between the idea of a fixed destiny and the idea of a person paving their own way in this world. My Father, who is popular for having his own "rags to riches" story (a phrase he hated incidentally, as he insisted he was never in rags) was a strong believer in Destiny too, but always said "There is no substitute for hard work." Yet, I was confused about what that meant, and wondered that if a person was meant to achieve greatness or wealth or whatever else is "written" for them, then why can't they sit in bed all day and wait for it to come to them? I asked the question to renowned Reiki Master and Writer, Paula Horan many, many years back on a visit of her's to Dubai and she explained it to me- "Life is like a Play... for it to go well, you need to Participate!" I've never forgotten those words.
Ok so back to the topic of astrologers... no wait... this post is about my Poem. I wrote this a few years back and just like most of my poems, I don't really know why I wrote it or what the inspiration was (they sort of just come to me). I'm sharing it with you now, as I'm quite excited to meet a Tarot reader sometime over the next few days who has been the only woman in my life who, a few years back, was able to predict most accurately, what would happen in my life from then on. I only met her once, and despite me trying to see her a WHOLE bunch of times, it hasn't happened till now. I'll elaborate more when it happens, but till then enjoy this funny piece I wrote that I call, "Fate." Of course no part of this poem may be used or copied or anything, blah blah... Hope you enjoy it.

"So how is it I can help you dear?"
This was the fourth one of the year
Palms had been peered at, leaves had been read
Crystals looked into, now cards would be spread.
"Talk," she continued, "and have no fear."

"We're obviously here to see what the future is holding!"
interjected my mother, almost scolding,
Nervously glancing round the barely lit room
Trying not to breathe in the cheap perfume
I see her gape at the moulding.

"What it is you want to know?
You think the question and I will show"
She shuffles and deals with an easy grip
Not often seen off the Vegas strip
"Aah," her eyes widen, "Here we go!"

"Money! Lots of money! It is your fate!
You make it big! You will be great!"
"Yes yes," said my mother, "That is all fine!
But my daughter, you see, is almost twenty nine
Please tell me, will she loose some weight?"

"The wait is over! You will see!"
"You sure?" asked my mother, looking over at me
"A boy will come! Handsome! Kind!
Oh yes... A very good boy she will find!
Millionaire too! In USD!"

"I promise" She continued, "I not lie!
Three months, I promise, you will have guy!
Few weeks I challenge, and he will come
If not, money back! I give whole sum!"
Across the room, a rat scurried by.

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Back in Dubai

It's almost 2 at night, and I've just settled into my bed after a hectic almost 19 hours of traveling. After almost 2 and a half months of being away, I'm finally back home in Dubai. Jet lag ensures I can't sleep, and I'm too tired to unpack, and after chatting with me for two hours, my mother too decided she can't stay up any longer... so here I am, sleepless in Dubai, and pensive. I miss my best friend and I miss my bed in New York and I miss the sounds of the ambulance that I can hear in the middle of the night despite being 41 flights up. I know tomorrow I'll wake up and remember that I can get out of my room and play with my dog, have breakfast made for me and not have to make my own bed, and I'll be happier. But right now, I just miss my home away from home.
America will always hold a very dear place in my heart as it is the place I spent 4 of my best years, at College in Boston. New York is special to me because that's what my best friend, one of the people I love most in this world, calls home. People might call the US the land of excess, or say that it lacks the culture or sophistication of Europe, or whatever they want. It doesn't change that I always have a bit of separation anxiety every time I leave. I still remember graduating in 2000 and having to leave that world of mine and moving to Dubai. Before I went off to college, I was in boarding school in Switzerland for 2 years, and before that, I was in India for six years. Dubai had never been home to me for a long, long time and I was so nervous for my big move as I had no friends or no life there. The IT bubble had just burst and the economy sucked, so staying back in the US and getting some work experience had no longer remained an option then. They say whatever happens, happens for the best, but I didn't understand it then. I now realize that it was  the best thing I could have done, as my Father passed away 2 years later, and I got to spend some amazing quality time with him- both at home, and at work.
Either way, I wanted to share a poem that I had written in 2000 entitled "Boston." I've been writing poetry ever since I could string two sentences together, and have been quite shy in posting any of my work over here with the exception of course being The Mystery of the Loiterer- Part 2.. if you haven't read it, read Part 1 here first. Incidentally, my friend Nadia sent me a  message 2 days back saying The Loiterer had been spotted again (he had done a disappearing act for a while) but I don't know if she just said that to lure me back home and not postpone my return again! Anyhow, back to the poem. I've been quite shy about posting my stuff over here, but since most of my posts are well received, I figure, what the hell. I'm also giving it a new home- "Time for a Rhyme corner" where from time to time, I'll post some of my works as well as some incredible poems I've read along the way. If you are a closet poet like me, and are feeling brave enough to share your work, email me.
Anyhow, here is mine-


At 3 AM I sit and write,
Plunged into Boston's pitch black night,
Three more weeks and then I leave,
Bearing my heart upon my sleeve.

Memories I've collected all these years,
Happy, sad, kind words and fears,
And all the friends that I have found,
I leave back and go, Logan bound,

With two suitcases to carry my world,
The life the stars and stripes unfurled,
Four Years ago upon this land,
I came, two suitcases in my hand.

Now it's time, I'm going home,
It's a place I feel I don't know.
I was scared, frightened when I just came
It's funny... now I feel the same.

Hope you like it! Off to bed now...

Kiran's Corner is officially back in Dubai!
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