From the movie, "A Beautiful Mind"

"I have made the most important discovery of my career.......

It is only in the mysterious equations of love, that any logical reason can be found.

I'm only here because of you.

You are the reason I am.

You are all my reasons!"

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Your love is the pillar I lean against,

It is the anchor that holds me in place.

Like the spring blossoms on a cherry tree,

You bring me hope of eternity.

Your love will set my spirit free,

Breaking the shackles of despondency.

My soul is content in the fountain of your love,

Secure in the knowledge You watch from above.

She knows she will join You in heaven one day,

Long after she has departed from the world she knows.

Oh, how will it be?

In a world un-known?

"Why?"

Why is it that you leave me so?

Blind and stumbling, groping and falling?

Why do you make me suffer so?

A wounded heart, a seared soul?

Why is my joy always jaded by grief?

Oh, why is my laughter, my peace so brief?

" Voyages of The Mind "

My wishes have no bearing on how Nature runs this universe, and I am quite aware of this; but what to do about the fact that I belong to the strange species called 'humans' and am predisposed to falling prey to unnatural urges and desires. I know that life is short, and time here limited. I also know that today will soon be yesterday,and become a link in history. But I want my days to linger; I want my yesterdays back. I wish for a vehicle which will transport me over the years back to my childhood days. But I have no such facility, except the vehicle of my thoughts and memories. And so I go on these escapades to flee from the chaos of my life and to take refuge in the warmth and safety of my childhood.

As I smell the heady fragrance of the sweet peas and narcissus that grow in my garden, I embark upon a sweet journey into my past. I close my eyes and see myself a little girl in another garden in another time, where I pick the sweet peas and narcissus to make a bouquet for my mother.

Ah, my dear, dear mother! I can see her sitting in her favourite wicker chair under the shade of the old oak tree, right in the middle of the garden; either reading an English classic or knitting; two of her favourite passtimes. I want to reach out and touch her, but I can only see her from afar; for that is how far my powers will take me, and no further.

The musty but refreshing smell of the first drops of monsoon rain as they hit the dry, parched earth, transports me to summers of my childhood. Somehow they seem so different now. The sun did not scorch the mind and body as it does now. The screeching call of the mynah bird and the incessant calls of the crows did not jar the senses and seem almost romantic in the distant memories.

Our spirits were alive, our souls restless. We could not be confined by walls and rules. Despite the daily ritual of my mother telling us to rest, every afternoon saw my brothers and me outside, quite unhampered by the sun and heat. Shinnying up the tall trees, collecting stones of different shapes, or finding and saving colourful feathers of pretty exotic birds were some of our favourite activities. Taking pity on the poor tadpoles for living in the murky pool in the backyard, we would transfer them to our bathtub feeling very proud and generous. We never understood why they died so soon after. Every day was an adventure; every act a lesson of discovery.

The sweet smell of burning wood carries me on a spiritual pilgrimage to visit places and people long lost to the passage of time. Even though we were used to living in the comforts of city life, spending summer with our grandparents was always a welcome news. They lived in a village called Maldive, not far from the famous fort of Rohtas. Visiting them meant experiencing a very different taste of life.

This was the time when there was no gas or electricity in the village. Food was cooked fresh on wood fire twice every day as there was no means of saving it from spoiling. Water was cooled in large earthen jars called 'mutkas' placed on wet sand for added cooling effect. Every morning we would wake up to the smell of burning logs laced with the delicious smell of 'parathas' being cooked in pure butter. To the young and hungry, that was the most inviting smell there could ever be.

We basked in the warmth of my grandmother's love as we were all very close to her. My brother and I would fight over who would get to sleep in her bed every night. We listened to her strange stories of djinns and spirits late into the night, and even though she repeated the same stories over and over again, we were never less enthusiastic and made sure we looked thrilled as if we were hearing them for the first time. Just the rapture of her closeness was enough for us.

Because there was no electricity in the village, hurricane lamps were brought out and polished and scrubbed every evening before dark. Another daily ritual was the carrying out of all the beds in to the lawn as it was too hot inside. Preparing beds for everybody must have been a daunting affair. They were carried out every evening one by one and then bedding spread on them. In order to ward off the mosquitoes, a special net was draped around each bed with the help of long iron poles, so that when they were ready, each bed looked like a little fortress set up against a common enemy, the tiny mosquito. Life was made especially cumbersome in case it decided to rain during the night, for everything had to be dragged hastily inside. Sometimes it hit early in the night and proved to be just a short burst of the clouds. Imagine the misery and dismay with which we were transported back outside. Only now, years later, can I look back and remember it all with a smile and a shake of my head....ugghh, crazy!!!

Sleeping under the stars was a fascinating experience in itself as it used to be quite a lesson in astronomy for us. It was also special bonding time with our parents and we tried to keep off sleep as long as we could so we could enjoy their attention longer. As we lay in our beds gazing up at the night sky, our father would show us 'stars' that moved and would explain how they were not stars at all. We listened in awe as he explained that they were man-made satellites orbiting the earth to gather information. Our mother would show us how to follow stars and join them to make various constellations and signs of the zodiac. She would also tell us stories related to them and how they came to be; a lesson in Greek Mythology. It is not without nostalgic emotion that I look up at the sky and recognize the Great Bear even today. The feeling is compounded by the irony that the sky and the stars have remain unchanged over the centuries, while the lives they gaze down upon undergo constant turmoil and are altered from moment to moment.

The chirping of beetles in the night reminds me of the time when we lived in Quetta. Those were peaceful times and Quetta was a beautiful city overlooked by two gigantic mountains called " Cheeltan " and " Murdar ". We would go for long walks with our parents after dinner. My brother and I would stop every now and then to examine and admire various types of beetles hovering around the street lamps or crawling on the ground. Occasionally we would hear the flapping of wings as birds flew off into the dark, and then we would hasten our step to catch up with our parents.

 I remember sitting behind my mother in the car and grabbing a corner of her 'dopatta' to see the distant lights through it. I can still feel the awe and magic of how the simple yellow light broke into all the colours of the rainbow as it passed through the silken strands of my mother's veil. It does not embarrass me to admit that I sometimes do that even now, if only to relive some of the pleasures of those innocent times.

Memories of my childhood are a cherished treasure and an integral part of my being. All those beautiful people who touched my life in so many ways and nurtured me with their unconditional love, have now gone away. But their rememberence keeps that love alive and guides me through my days.

Sometimes when life is slow, and time lingers, these memories rush in to fill the gaps and take me on many exotic voyages of the mind.

"Mother"

She is the strangest of God's Creations,

Beautiful and tender of heart and soul.

And though she may seem perfect in form,

There is one little blemish in her mould.

However may her soul be touched by life,

Tears will overflow the brims of her eyes.

She cries at every happy occasion,

She cries when her heart is ripped by pain.

Those around her watch her and wonder,

If all is well and she is not insane.

When you were little, she kissed your tiny feet,

Your cherub face, your smooth brow,

Your each little finger she held in awe.

Every time she folded you in her arms,

She thanked the boundless mercy of God.

You were the bundle of joy in her life,

Her peaceful refuge from troubles of life.

Your laughter was her reason to live,

The sweetest music to her ears.

And your tears, God forbid your tears!

Fell on her soul like molten fire.

When all was quiet and the world around her,

Lay shrouded in the blanket of deep slumber.

She lay awake despite her fatigue,

Keeping a silent vigil over you.

In her heart were endless desires,

Her wish was to see you grow a certain way.

She prayed you grow up kind and gentle,

Ready to forgive and eager to embrace.

She tried to reach you from the depth of her heart,

And teach you the value of humility;

For boughs that are heavy with abundant fruit,

Bend not but downward to the earth beneath.

She prayed you learn of the peace in forgiving,

As when you forgive you set yourself free,

From the bondage of baseness that sears the heart,

And shackles the spirit that is born free.

Her love was revealed in a thousand ways,

You understood some, while some were mystery.

You did not understand her scourge, her anger,

Why she did not fulfill your every fantasy.

It was her love for you my child,

That kept her from spoiling you with undue indulgence.

For she wished to prepare you for the difficulties of life,

She endeavoured to impart the art of acceptance.

Had she been unwise in her treatment of you,

Had she shown weakness of determination,

She would have done you no favour my dearest,

For you would have suffered the ramifications

Of her oversight and failure in rearing you.

Time is a bird that flies on swift wings,

And man may only witness the changes it brings.

Now you are grown up, enlightened and wise,

On the threshold of a new beginning of life.

It may be you are far, but in miles alone,

And never in loving heart or mind.

She knows you may have dreams of your own,

Not far removed from hers for you;

And so she prays every moment of her life,

She says a prayer and blows it your way,

So you are happy and you are safe,

And never wanting in the treasures of life.

Your every little trouble gives her sleepless nights,

Your every little wish becomes her mission in life.

She places her entire being, her very soul,

Into her silent supplications.

She is oblivious to all around,

Imploring, begging, forehead glued to the ground.

And when her prayers are heard and answered,

Again she finds her brow on the ground.

It is her desire that when she is old,

You will still love her and respect her the same;

That you will not lose your patience with her,

And you will be proud to bear her name.

That you will still seek her company,

And you will not shun her for senility.

There will be moments when you will find,

She will become a test for you my child.

It is then she hopes that you will be strong,

Will not lose heart and be gentle and kind.

Her only reward for her toils is your love,

In that is her pride and her gratification;

But that is an aspect of her love for you too,

For in your love for her will be salvation for you.

The Spring Streets Of My City

The chirping bird at my window sill,

Wakes me from my slumber deep.

The sweet smell of blossoms carried on the wind,

Plays on my senses no longer asleep.

Spring is here once again at last,

Awakening from the winter frost.

My streets are drowned in colour once more,

The dead brown trees are dead no more.

The gentle dawn breeze rustles the blooms,

And the branches heavy with their fragrant burden,

Shudder and sprinkle some of the encumbrance,

To colour the waiting earth below.

The noise of the birds nesting in the trees,

Rises and falls as it travels on the breeze.

People are taking a stroll on the streets,

Their spirits lifted by the unending treats.

The melody of the birds, the fragrant air,

The crispy freshness of the atmosphere,

The foliage of the old trees joining above

In canopies of deep and soothing shade.

The plentiful flowers blooming in their beds,

Unleash a sea of colours wild.

So the city becomes a heaven on earth,

An artist's pallette, an angel's ride.

The heart cannot but rejoice the sight,

For before too long they will be gone.

Leaving behind only memories,

Of spring in my streets and the endless delight.

You And Me!

Will I ever know?

Where I came from,

And where it is I go?

My past is shrouded,

In the folds of mystery,

And my future

I barely know.

In my heart I feel,

I was with You;

When I was not I,

But You were still You.

And so I wander,

From day to day,

Searching for 'me',

Only finding You!