over a glass of chilled wine or not...

Have you noticed, in the vast archipelago of everyday, the yarns that get woven are little and in itself immense too? 

I like how things collide, combine, overlap. Really like a constant reminder to live purposefully and mindfully.  It reminds me to lean into the hours, the days, the weeks that are yet mine. 

This year, is a take-the-trash-out-and-make-positive-space year!!! It's my theme to say yes and by corollary say No, too!  

Sometimes, you need a slip way, especially to get away from the thick of your life, doing the everyday. Because thats what gives the being all of you, the mother, the homemaker, the strategist, the student... a meaning beyond. 

“Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington.” 
- Herman Melville, “The Lee Shore”


And, then out of the blue, sometimes these tingly unmentionables become fractals of the current everyday, fast moving, fast mutating shapes of dreams and desires. A map yet uncartographed, a land yet unknown, waters yet unchartered. It rocks your ark. The boat.

Rock the boat! It's rocking, alright! And, how... !!! 

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

sentient me

“I’m not telling you to make the world better, because I don’t think that progress is necessarily part of the package. I’m just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave’s a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that’s what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it.”

― Joan Didion, in a 1975 commencement address at the University of California, Riverside.

of all lost things



"…this drive - this is sorrow. It makes you want to freeze the world and shatter it with an axe."
by How We Are Hungry - Dave Eggers




Peace, is when you smoke with me
 
what if I blinked too  hard and all my lashes fell out
what  if I looked for all the clocks to wipe out the angel hours
what if I wished all the stars shot

would that be the end of all wishes and all wanting
would you hold me still


Copyright © Neerja Yadav



few pics via web

the everyday



I wake up from a fitful sleep, after long. I wake up and put the water on for tea. I wake up bleary eyed, walk past the mirror and stop for a minute… looking back, sleepy puffy eyed, pouty pink lips and pale skin. That is me, but the mirror says differently.

I wake up and get going on the kitchen, the laundry, the music, the jazz… and get Nirvaan up, play with him, get him ready for school.

I wake up and drive to work. Things have changed. The time, when I was work-from-home-mom, full-time-mom and the time when I was… what? It’s too way in the past, obscured by the sunlit screen of the now.

Things shift and turn and shift again.

End of the day, I pack my laptop, ride the elevator seven floors down and then I drive home. The music shattering the noise outside, making a tunnel for my thoughts, consciousness changing from one persona to the other, the twists and turns, the traffic lights and the bumps, all remembered too well. Auto Driving through it all. Through the flyovers and dirt roads and canopied lanes, I reach home.

Home.

The place that fills me up with wonder and peace, warmth and energy.

The place that grounds the gypsy me.

There’s a white temple somewhere on the way, I am not a religious soul, but I do a quick bow and pay homage to the whiteness, the clouds and the greens…. And take a breath.

The fact is, of late, I am once again filled with wanderlust, restlessness, an anticipation, a beginning of a hunger, perhaps. I am still getting the hang of this. Haven’t really got the pulse of what’s going on. 
It’s like this new thing, I have never seen before. It would eventually come, I know. I think.

This something, which makes things look more possible than possible. It’s like the mirror wants me to see that girl and not what I think I see.

Who really argues with the mirror?

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

not so pretty. no,seriously

my ink stained letters
yes,letters...
yes,the very ones that gleam when held up in the light
 
they go ahead and shyly smudge the dreams

the skipping and laughing
the twirling and running
dreams

rainclouds carry my laughter
a butterfly flutters
a florist somewhere lost his balance
petals just rain down


these dream bubbles float high
every night

every morning
yet another concoction


Copyright©Neerja Yadav