Rumi
Tag: spirituality
The Debdaru tree in my life
Tarryn Fisher
When I first came to live in the apartment where I now stay, I was taken in by the big garden around the building and the huge trees that were the hallmark of the garden. The garden was soothing and negated the Mumbai pollution.
There is one Debdaru tree in front of my balcony on the other side of the driveway. The tree is like any other and I had paid no attention to it in the earlier days as I was trying to settle down in the city alien to me.
Few years later, when I was standing alone on my balcony, on a rain drenched Sunday afternoon, my eyes suddenly chanced upon this Debdaru tree. The tree and I stared at each other. On this silent, dark hour, I slowly felt that the tree was communicating with me. I was overawed by the thought, so unbelievable and unnerving. I stood there for a long time, trying to figure out what to do. The feeling was palpable and I still experience that moment.
Since that day the Debdaru tree started growing on me. Be it night or day, I found a strange connect with this quiet entity. It gave me a lot of peace and I started spending a lot of time on the balcony. I would talk to the Debdaru tree in my mind and believed it could empathise with me. And the connect grew stronger with passage of time. I continued to share my thoughts with my friend silently.
There are a few incidents that occurred that made me believe that the tree really had befriended me. Of course it was just a notion, but a pleasant one.
One evening, around 11 pm, I was sitting and reading on the balcony. I must have dozed off after a while. Suddenly I heard a swishing noise and woke up with a start. It was well past midnight and I quickly gathered my Kindle, my iPad and my books and went off to bed. The next morning I found our gardener in the driveway, removing a branch that had fallen from the Debdaru tree. I realised that the swishing noise that I had heard the night before was that of the branch falling from the Debdaru tree. I felt then that my friend was trying to awaken me from my slumber. Weird, but it did make sense to me.
Another evening, I was standing and watching the moon play hide and seek through the long leaves of the Debdaru tree. It was a full moon night. My balcony was drenched with moonlight. The sky was clear, with stars twinkling across the expanse. There was a gentle breeze and I was smiling at the beauty of nature. Suddenly there was a gust of a stronger breeze, and the branch from my Debdaru tree swayed and moved towards me. It raised itself with the wind force and almost reached my face, as if to touch it. I was startled and tried to touch it back involuntarily. Despite knowing that trees are not to be touched in the night. But I could never get there, the breeze settled and the moment passed.
There were many such little incidents that made me believe in the connect more and more. I could, of course, never touch my tree as the driveway was sizeably wide and the tree was several feet away.
One day, I came back from work and as usual went to the balcony to gaze at my friend. I was shocked to find the tree cut and only a short portion was visible at the ground level. My feelings were indescribable. I felt a sense of loss that I couldn’t handle as I stared at the vacant spot and saw the road and the vehicles. I felt I had just lost my soulmate. I just stood there, feeling so desolate and so helpless. It was strange that I was so lost without my Debdaru in front of my balcony. The feelings shook me to the core. But there it was.
For days and months on end, the melancholic mood continued and I felt at a loose end, not knowing how to handle the separation. I realised that the Debdaru tree was my pillar that I was holding on to which gave me solace and strength in my trying times. So irrational but that was my reality.
Gradually, the tree grew taller and one day I could make eye contact with my friend, once again. I had tears in my eyes that day and felt like giving my tree friend a big hug.
But my friend and I were quite a distance away from each other. There was no way I could even get close to it. Even if I went down, the tree actually was at a height and surrounded by shrubs. I would never be able to reach it. So it stayed that way eversince.
Trees are considered to have souls and they do empathise. I believe that I have a soul connect with the Debdaru tree and it has taught me so much. The teachings are a continuous process. It is akin to my life and my living it.
I realised that I have a limited lifespan and my Debdaru tree has years to live. Maybe with the next owner. So our interaction is within a finite time. It is a painful realisation and I try not to dwell on it.
I learnt that when providence creates a distance, it stays that way. I, therefore, cannot always get what I want. Like the Debdaru tree outside my balcony. I love the tree, it is my adrenaline, I need to see it all the time, but I can’t reach it. I will never been able to make good the distance. A truth which only I can perceive, feel and live with.
At these times it is crucial not to aspire, so that it does not destroy something else or someone else in the process. For instance, if I were to get my Debdaru tree close to me, either I would have to break the tree or I would have to try and jump across, which would only break my bones. Or pull the swaying branches with a rope, thereby damaging the tree. And such a tree doesn’t grow in apartments.
Again, like this atypical connect, what happens if I cross paths with my natural soulmate, my Debdaru in flesh and blood, under unusual circumstances? Or at the wrong time of my life? In the cacophony of living, my existence at the sublime level is what matters then, as that is not in conflict with the societal norms, away from the expectations of people around, not having to conform and not being able to do justice to our own selves. A subliminal bond is surreal, predestined and so very continuous in a different zone, away from prying eyes.
Joy and pain then learn to co-exist. The bond with my soulmate is perennial. If we can mutually decide to retain the friendship we are blessed and stay connected.
Or else life moves on. Mostly one without the other. Time is said to be a great healer. Maybe. For some lucky ones.
[Note : Debdaru tree (Polyalthia longifolia), also known as the ‘false ashoka’, native to India, is a lofty evergreen tree, commonly planted due to its effectiveness in alleviating noise pollution. It exhibits symmetrical pyramidal growth with willowy weeping pendulous branches and long narrow lanceolate leaves with undulate margins.]
why
in the stillness of the night
in the sonance of the day
in the thrum of rains
why do you tiptoe
and drift placidly
into my thoughts
in murmuring waves
that erupt in trillions
of moments
evolving into
tantalising images
of allure and dreams
wafting around my
being, my soul and
surging through my mind
ceaseless, melodious
in a rhythm that i cannot
fathom but discern
a bond that grows
seeking no acceptance
want that i cannot grasp
keeping me addled
through endless hours
of pulsating beats
confined where
i neither can
touch nor hark
or elude
from these magical spells
of upheaval
when there is no reboot
why
in unison
my soul
vibrates with
another
unknown yet so known
timeless, ageless
with my every heartbeat
beats one more
in unison with mine
thoughts travel
in unison
in and out
from one mind
to the other
every pain that reflects
in that body
reflects in mine
where is this heart
that i can’t touch
but feel in mine
unseen, so near
yet so far
my soul
entwined with another
loving beyond despair
unexplained, impossible
every sinew aware
of my soulmate
fear of loss
stalks me
breaking in sweat and tears
fear of time
makes my heart pound
will we never meet
why can’t i be a friend
time stops me
cross that i bear
fear swirls around
engulfing my being
unfathomed quiet
presence that pulsates
blanking my thoughts
unbearable throbbing
my vision clouds
i realise
i cease to live
as life
lifts my soulmate
into another world
that i can’t fathom
leaving me
powerless, blinded
motionless
leaving me
crying in the shadows
incomplete forever
as i cease to live
rendezvous
Image symbolic only
Go my friend
into your world again
where happiness greets you
there is laughter and solace
waiting for you, again
away from pain and doubt
unshackled, unfettered
meet with your destiny
in gay abandon
as providence has designed for you;
true it is indeed
a world of promises
and there is
your life in waiting
where you are meant to be
go my friend, go
a few strands
sun reflects
shines like a mirror
unfurls the sky
clouds float past
breeze runs
through few strands
flailing helplessly
on the top;
here come the rains
pitter patter
sounds stay
water drops land,
jumping off
flowing down in gay abandon
messing around
few strands all wet and drooping
on glistening brown;
it’s cold and frosty
iced it is
freezing all of it
shimmering white
strands flattened
beyond vision;
hurts beyond measure
open to vagaries of weather
leaving no option but
to reach for the cap
to save the few strands
on the bald pate
only in my being
Karen Ross
Image symbolic only
vortex of emotions
rise and fragment my being
into a million parts
splintering my thoughts
as they prance
around me in happiness,
in pain, in sorrow…
in tandem
with my body and my soul
two different entities now
away from each other drawn
as i cry in pain, torn,
in a bind to hold on
to breathe
and to let go;
eternal turmoil of mind,
faith, trust and heart…
heart wins over all;
time steps in
void in me it creates
rests on my shoulders
motionless, heavy
spiral of fear rising i feel
through my gut;
my heart turns away
pulsating, incomplete
dissolving hope;
defeat i concede
step back to encase
my soulmate
in my memory folds;
i turn as i feel
him as a part of
my being, entwined,
in my mind shackled,
in my thoughts enchained,
in my moments, in my soul,
my aura – my alter ego
in an eternal space
of the Giver;
but time is motionless
my body listless
mind in struggle
in a vortex of emotions
i concede defeat
only in my being
for time can’t shackle
my soul
sands of time
i stand by the river
as the tide makes me wait
i want to cross over
before it’s too late;
i see you my soulmate
it seems i’ll never reach
time’s really with the tide
and that i can never breach;
sands of time are ever so rough
there’s no let up for love or pain
searing winds make it really tough
for me to cross and see you again;
i stand by the river
knowing that i just can’t turn the tide
and i pray to the Giver
to always be on your side;
even if i‘m not with you
there’s no reason for you to frown
now that you’re getting your due
just go ahead and seek your crown;
watching you my soulmate
am just happy to see your flight
for sands of time have got me late
to reach you, yearn as i might.
Ms Damayanti
‘It is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken
joy in creative expression and knowledge.’
– Albert Einstein
I pen this piece on Ms Damayanti, my English teacher in school. An unobtrusive personality who deserved recognition, but never really looked for it and never evaluated her own worth.
Why do I write about her? Because Ms Damayanti was an ordinary lady with extraordinary teaching skills that had a strong bearing on my English education in my formative years. I comprehended her teaching strength much later, by which time, regrettably, I had lost touch with her.
I realised Ms Damayanti’s infinite contribution to my language prowess only after I went for higher studies and had to use English extensively. I think of her often enough and thank God for her advent into my life at the time.
English is not my mother tongue. The first language that I spoke in was Bengali (one of the many languages spoken in India). But today, I am most comfortable with English, in reading, in writing as well as in thinking. Although I do think in Bengali at times, but English is always the dominant language. In a home where members primarily spoke in Bengali, how really did this happen?
Firstly, let me tell you what Ms Damayanti was like. A typical South Indian lady, in all probability from Chennai, who wore a white sari with some innocuous border, carrying a large, nondescript black bag and who hardly ever smiled. She was short, dark and was least bothered about her appearance. Her hair was tied in a careless bun which allowed most of her curly hair to escape and bounce around her face. The smattering of grey in the hair added to her years and I really don’t know how old she was at the time. I don’t even know if she was married because we addressed all teachers as ‘Miss’ or ‘Ma’m’.
Even her English pronunciation was far from perfect. She spoke English with a heavy accent and didn’t have a voice audible enough to reach the last benches of our class.
Ms Damayanti had little patience with the girls, generally. Her class was usually after our recess. Many a times we used to crowd around her when she took up our homework notebooks, one by one. At the time, quite often, not so pleasant a smell emanating from someone in the crowd of girls would reach her quickly. She was very averse to such air pollution and would immediately pinch her small, thick nose and glare at us. She would place her thumb on the forehead of each of the girls standing close to her and start pushing them back. ‘बच्चा लोग (children) go back, go back’!
Secondly, I don’t remember much about Ms Damayanti’s teaching style, but she was never impatient while teaching. I was very attentive in her class and took a lot of interest in learning English. Our class was on the first floor and I used to sit at the desk next to the window, overlooking the road. Surprisingly, the noise of the steady traffic never bothered me when I was in her class.
She used to insist on our using ‘Wren and Martin’ for our grammar and there was no escape. Because of her I had memorised almost the entire book! And because of her my English grammar gave me a solid foundation for mastering the language. I started enjoying learning English and made sure I finished all my homework as correctly as possible.
She taught us new words all the time and made us use them in sentences. We were to carry a dictionary with us to the class. A habit that stayed with me for very many years.
My most significant memory of Ms Damayanti is her objectivity. She had no favourites in class. Each student was as important to her as any other. Marks were accorded strictly by merit. She was forever correcting us and was never tired of referring to ‘Wren and Martin’ when she was teaching.
‘Wren and Martin’ was a hard bound book and its cover was red with the print in black letters. My dictionary had a red cover and print in black, too. Since then, these two hard bound red covers are vividly etched in my mind. As is Ms Damayanti, a teacher par excellence.
Thirdly, Ms Damayanti and the red book, ‘Wren and Martin’, made my English what it is today. It forged my interest in reading English fiction and non-fiction. It initiated me into a world of words which stood me in good stead over the years.
As many people in my life, whose value I grew to understand much later in my life, has left me with regrets that are difficult to come to terms with. Sometimes, when I reminisce my school days, Ms Damayanti looms upon me, larger than life.
A harsh world which judges a person by appearance, my English teacher lagged far behind and was most forgettable in her unkempt state of attire. And there was nothing to write about her personality. No one would even recognise her if she passed by. But I have learnt to fathom the stature of Ms Damayanti by her God gifted talent as a teacher and how she moulded me to easily master a language foreign to me. To the extent that it is my first language today.
They say ‘a teacher takes a hand, opens a mind and touches a heart’. Ms Damayanti did all of it for me, but I did not bother about her at the time. I do so today and my heart and mind are full of gratitude and reverence when I think of her. She is way beyond the times of social media, so connecting with her is next to impossible.
I keep on looking out for her in my sub conscious, just to touch her feet and do sashtang pranam (prostration of the body in obeisance at the feet), which she so rightfully deserved. A way too late, but Ms Damayanti is a cult figure in my mind and will always be. My deceptively unusual English teacher.
it shall never be over
i let go of you again and yet again
for your ongoing journey
away from mine;
i can’t bind your time
in my world eons away from yours
even though i love you so
and don’t know how
to say goodbye
i see you
in the gentle breeze
in the swish of curtains
in the flying strands of my hair
in the grip of a ladle
in the scent of a flower
in the dancing shadows
in the patter of my step
i think of you
in the moments of joy
as time stands still…
the golden glow of the evening sky
bathes my window sill and the floor within
it steals moments from my memories
wildly rushing through my thoughts
shimmering, prancing through
my mind in embers
fire that burns without an end
spluttering within
i see you gliding through the memory lanes
looming large as you traverse distances
mesmerising tunes capturing
those flowing moments;
i awaken to my soul stirring
to hold you in this
timeless moments in space
never to let you go;
in the slew of emotions
that cloud my thoughts
threatening to pour
my time stands still…
yet stealthily night creeps up
the glow lost in the dark
sill and the floor hidden
i see your silhouette giving me solace
in the light that pushes
through the crevices of my window
the moments dissolve and i know
you have to step into your own world
where i don’t belong
and i won’t let you wait
in my world eons away from yours
as i fold quietly
the awry pages of my memory yet again
i pray for your everlasting happiness
and peace in your space;
through my swirling pain i wonder
will i ever find you again
is it over from now?
my heart whispers
it isn’t over for me
and never shall be…
as i love you so
and don’t know
how to say goodbye
