Ishi Mom

Ishi gave birth to a baby boy.

He is as big as those two new bipin chandra books i bought yesterday, put together.

She carried him for 10 months! It took one hour for her to push him out. They slit her with a blade and then stitched her back.

She sits, cooing to her baby, joking at how she feels ticklish when he sucks her nipples.

Ishi, my funny funky friend who made the college of the Maharja bearable. She is all Mom now. There were not many instances where we didnt see eye to eye. It's just not that I dont understand her now.

Its just this new person that has walked out of the skin shedded. The skin that burst first where her son poked his head out, the crack then travelling up her belly, her breasts then upto her head. The skin falls off and Voila! there is a Mom to the world.

I know there must be a being like that in me too. But moulting, I reiterate, is not for the fishy ones. We are happy to swim around in our slippery first skins all life long. And nurturing though we might be, narcissism doesn't peak enough to wish the object of nurturance holds one's own gene map.

But Gosh, Ishi, respect I do. so much...chakkare.

On souls that flee

I learnt about a practice of Shamans today. Tim told me of it. His dad is a minister in a church and his mom is a Shaman. Am so fascinated by her.. Apparently, she got hit by a lightning and was hospitalised and it's after that she sought out shamanism.. He tells me, that she does soul retrieval for people.. everytime something traumatic happens to us, a part of our soul flees.. and she tries to find them for people.. along with helping peoples' soul journey ahead after their death..
Tim says she did one for him too. Tim had a difficult childhood, seperated from his mom. She wasn't part of his childhood. And she found a piece of his being that fleed back then during some epsode with his dad. And the solution she sound for Tim to get it back was a question. A question, which by it's frequent 'posing' would help him find that part and bring it back. "What can I do to be, remain, curious?"

I dunno what to think of it. My faith revolves around energies. And nature, as animism sees it, revolves around that very concept of energy flow itself. But I dunno whether we really keep losing parts of our souls like that. Thats what Mary Gaitskill too said. Is it really possible?? I dunno. But the idea that -a question that you will ask yourself, is all that you need to rediscover that lost part touched me so much..

To be home alone is to be dancing

After a long time, could dance today. Up and down the stairs in and arond the living, on bed and the couch.. everywhere that the music took me. There was no one at home and I felt like an unbound spring.

Dancing is like meditation. The one that works the best for me. Its the one thing that makes me belong just to the moment. I really have no idea how I dance when I dance for myself.. I just close my eyes and pretend existence seeks its validity in the sway of my hips. lol. vain. but who cares!

I like to tie my hair tight in a bun and swirl so fast that the rhythm that slowly creeps up my spine can tumble it down. I tell myself, that's when I will stop dancing..

I really wish I were a street dancer. And my whole life would just be about resonance. No need to really emit anything.. the music will by itself elicit what is it in me that it wants.

Music and movement. Rhythm and Resonance.

I wish I had that.

And I wish I will be cremated, and not buried when I die. I dunno why it suddenly popped up. But yea, I guess this is as serious a wish to let it's presence felt now.

You are heeded to, too cremation wish. Though the possibility of that happening is as remote as me dancing to the tune of Djembe in the streets for a living.

But heed I do..

Lunatic; not just an idiot.

There is something crazy about the way humans are made.

He came last week. Was so funny to see him at the airport. He looked so outta place. A huge back pack hunching him.
But when he opened that back pack and took out a piece of petrified wood and a white pebble from Atlantic, i knew the stranger was indeed the very dear friend who knew me so well. A stone from deep down the earth, in which each little being of wood was replaced by each little being of mineral.... A smooth white pebble, chiselled over ages to form the cool, calming feeling in my palm..
No one has ever understood me so well..
Fun by the beach, badminton matches with all the dookli rules made, long theorisations on delusions, elaborations on Ramachandran's work on mirror neurons.. painting the world map red and blue and green and yellow.. cooking crepes, teaching Simba tricks, listening to Bob Marley, reading books on the evening porch, looking at all those wonderful animals around and trying to be Shamans, learning to ride cycle hands free.. teaching to make a kathakali face..pillow fighting, dancing, and simply so wonderfully talking..

Tim, the Thimman now, matches me grain by grain.. but why not can there be the petrified wood.. where is the whole that is larger, different, than the sum of all parts..
Why are we partial; at our own disadvantage??

Tim, the one person my age I respect so much. The one who has taught me things, so many.. wonderful ways of seeing the world. A few days ago, he introduced Mary Gaitskill to me.. his greatest gift to me so far. Read out a story of hers and it made me feel so overwhelmed.. her brilliance, her precision. It was titled Mirror Ball. Of souls unintentionally given and taken. I still vividly remember those lines. Brain is not higher in moral or celestial than others. Brain, Heart,viscera, genitals.. none is better than the other.. it's just a matter of where the soul chooses to cling..
The girl in the story, believed her soul clung to her brain; as I believe mine does too; and she says such a connection can give the soul a kind of shocking electricity that will make it stay up talking its head off for nights on end.. It was such a soul of hers that was unknowingly taken by him. And that soul of hers was incessantly talking to him.
The story was so intricate, yet so simple in it's philosophy.. I looked at Tim, and I couldn't understand... Told him to read on..
He read other stories.. And finally the one titled Description. About a Joseph and Kevin, out on a trek. Two people for whom world, and it's people had different laws. And in the world of different laws, Kevin was the lucky one.
I asked Tim, which character he'd rather be.. He chose Joseph. Said he'd rather be the one who felt all that pain and grew than the one who won through and never got really touched by life.

That one statement, coming after that story, and that story having had come after all those questions to myself, struck me so deep...

Indeed there is something crazy. About the ways we humans are made. We are not simply idiots who can't say the difference between right and wrong and so does the wrong. We are lunatics who knows what is right and wrong and still does the wrong..
Where do I start to make things right??