the reverie junction

the everything

2011-11-30T10:07:00.000-08:00

the everything
is the deep of your beautiful voice
that speaks to me

of the love that we share
that is sometimes,
the air we need to breathe,
the air we need to just be

you, yourself
me, myself

alone and together
here and there

and like the air
the everywhere
the always

the everything

The Golden Birdcage

2011-11-28T16:37:00.000-08:00

The golden birdcage dangles. No bird in sight.

She sits in seating assigned by sibling hierarchy. The youngest never get to choose.

That middle bump on the back seat though does have its advantages.

Not only did her littleness allow for easy rear view reflection,

it allows her equal access to her
father there on the left, her
mother's angular profile
dangling earrings, one
sister to the right, another
sister to the left.

What it also allowed her, was an unobstructed view of the road ahead.

a vast blue

2011-11-20T07:11:00.001-08:00

today my love is a vast blue
inviting as the sky
that holds
always

in a smiling knowing

that the truth about fogs
is that once they come,
they withdraw
and reveal bright
at a greater speed,
than they envelop and encroach

that the torrential rains
will storm and gust and uproot and dismantle
but then they will simmer and slow and stop

today from behind the sky
peeks and gleams a yellow radiance

today my love is a vast blue

re-written

2011-10-29T17:57:00.001-07:00

once
an enlarging O
of a mouth intruded
in unallowed participation

disintegrating the intricate fibers,
sinews, tissues and tubules
that hold my precious heart in functional tact

at slicing, exacting, disorienting, disarraying
speeeeeeeed

down-dropping

m
y
h
e
a
r
t
into the welcoming embraces
of cunning sands
that break the fall
only to swallow

alarming! how resilient
these throbbing parts are
using the tracheal dark to
opiate, dissociate
to calm
and soothe me into illusions

moon-drop delusions
that awaken reveries,
augur self-made salves
and finger-paste into my mind's sky

a round milky cooling light-filled vision

allowing me to see
the frayed pieces of cord,
threads of tendons I hold
in my own hand

i pull at the deeply rooted grass
extracting, gathering, collecting
to secure, strap, tie,
together a bridge
being built and built upon
everyday

a quiet moment

2011-10-26T16:39:00.001-07:00

the quiet moments
are as invisible
as the spaces between buildings
from this side of the river

from here it is all
a continuing scape
with peaks, blocks, dips and caves
to be looked at, felt

a convenient escape?
a much needed break?

everyday i cross over
through lit tunnels
peopled
by the momentum of morning

a bustle filled ascension into
a highly currented, choppy river with
the rare old woman, the everyday korean, the hip-hop dancer boys, the above everyone victoria secret girls, scuttling office workers, window cleaners with their sticks that jut out into the middle of the streets, helping slick city-walkers improve their maneuvering skills, those who just stop. and get stuck staring high into the sky, the brisk cold, breakfast, coffee, traffic lights, cars...

and i arrive
at my particular
space in between all the buildings

now from this side of the river
with no scape, or escape
from the doings i choose

that at times don't allow,
at times insist
that i take a moment
a quiet moment

shine eternally

2011-08-21T06:13:00.000-07:00

the quality of my light
shines through blinds
marks like scars and stripes
my partly-clothed morning body

within THIS light
my magic is still meek
poetry only peeks
eternally seeking

illumination

no audre, there has been
no lack of scrutiny.
the nameless, the formless
are often felt.

distillation

Is a slow process
And I am still learning
To bear the intimacies of scrutiny

two boats

2011-06-20T10:08:00.001-07:00

two boats
together

gather

to pass is
to continue

to touch

2011-06-01T04:46:00.000-07:00

without you

avocados, kale and green beans sprout
in the quarry of my hungry belly

the man in my dream and i
push at the double sided door
reaching for half grown grapes
as i jolt awake in terror

a succulent red settles into the creases
of my bow tie pasta breakfast

i watch the fog and
wait for the rains

to touch

love

2011-03-16T18:42:00.000-07:00

yesterday i met love
as she lay in all her beauty
on a hospital bed

i'm tired she said
i need some rest
i need some giving
to my dear sweet self

my awry apostrophe's

2010-10-06T13:27:00.000-07:00

of late, I don’t know what to make
of my awry apostrophes

who are the many, which is mine?
is this separation or a join?

what to do with so many possessors?
whom to give shade and tone to?

perhaps what to posit

is a sorting of cohorts
possess not so many

an hour’s respite
for my much needed heart

salty time and butterflies

2010-10-01T07:53:00.001-07:00

i wait
i wait
i wait
and it pours
from the skies
from my eyes

salt shrivels my dream blossoms
ticking time tugs, awakens my sleeping fear bulbs
i wait and wait and wait

then
you call
andmycryingdyingheartfindsafoothold
andipullanounceofmeupwiththebounceofyourvoice

a gain
a pain
a hangup
disonnance, disconnect

we arm to disarm
my tears in your arms
cascades shift tectonic plates
stifled butterflies spread their wings

for me. and. for you.

2010-07-22T13:18:00.000-07:00

curlicueing here, along a wispy, whimsy course
through the deep black
of my waves

while there, as gale gusting
through the tightly twined threads
of your shirt

today, this breeze.
is for me.
and.
for you.

the crowded heart

2010-07-19T14:51:00.002-07:00

on one square inch, the music's demise
rays of light of foreshortened flight
bees buzz a breviate bunny hop
mirth less mingles
of hair mangled in vines tangled on trees entangled in root.

on one square inch, the dancing girl
dances no more

a collector

2010-07-19T14:51:00.001-07:00

sticks and stones on sills stockpile
acorns, pine cones and leaves turned brown
darkness with no absence of light
which supplant is in her heart tonight?

an ode, a road to the Poets House

2010-07-16T08:38:00.001-07:00

rememberings, reveries and ruminations
riding on the waves of
rhymes, rhythms, periodicities and pulse
sky-shaping clouds
made of polymers, protractions, poinsettias, oleanders

take me there once again, my friend
to those books, that chair, that air
where breathing is easiest
being is breeziest,
loving sheer zeal

take me my love
till my love takes me
to the Poets House!

what does she dream of

2010-05-24T14:50:00.000-07:00

what does the she dream of,

the sea

as she lullabies herself to sleep?

does she envy the river for the great speed?

does she resent the settling sediments?

Or in her vastness, in her depths,

does she have the capacity

even proclivity

to receive not one, not three

but all

of the rivers that

rush towards her,

gush into her,

all at once?

does she know,

the secret of time eternity?

And is that why she can see

the distances from

which they come,

why they come,

how they come and become

a part

perhaps that is the secret of her reveries

the delight she takes in their running to her

the playfulness with which they succumb to her,

and perhaps in these dreams,

she sees,

that she is the sea

and in that she is free.

the skill of adaptation

2010-03-31T17:14:00.000-07:00

it takes but a moment of hearing you speak
that i begin to sound like you

is it a wonder that an auto rickshaw driver in delhi
instantly started speaking to me in punjabi?

or that the women at the masjid invited me to sit and read with them?

how my skin darkens to a supple glow in the moist heat of thiruvalla

and that afternoon so vivid
when hidden in the shade of my grandparent's tapioca field,
i watched with a recognition, the chameleon
spring onto my arms and turn into me

this skill of adaptation is one i have all too much grace with

as i ponder how beautiful it is and how not
i remember mistral's words...
"and my mercy too was born of wounds"

it is time to look again

at this grace with which i flow
bleed into my surroundings
and turn i into you

A phone call, a handstand and a dip in the pool

2009-03-16T19:18:00.000-07:00

Today I picked up a phone call. I attempted hand-stands, and bought myself swim-wear. Today I made steps to confront three of my most profound fears.

The phone caller is never a well wisher. He is never a dear friend calling to inquire about my whereabouts or my well being. He most definitely is not simply calling to say "Hey!".

Caller ID does not just indicate a particular dear one is holding one ear open for me. It is a blinking, fear-invoking red light that flashes its angry light in my face, scolding me for the time and space I take to breathe, scathing me with guilt for the audacity to prioritize my needs...a cue for me to run farther away in the hopes of disappearing. If I don't exist then your frustration towards me doesn't exist. Then all is well. Right?

No!
Nadge said "No!"
"No space for fear, distrust and uncertainty here. No, not when your doing a hand-stand." In that gentle British tone of his, he said, "You've got to leave all that behind you, and just do it. And its good for you. All that blood rushing to your brain is simply wonderful for you." He recommended that I start off doing it with someone. Someone who can hold up my legs and direct it towards the wall so I can feel okay about being up-side down. Then he said, "Use the wall. You know it will always be there. So use it to support your legs and move your legs away from the wall a bit-by-bit until you become at ease and find your balance."

Yes! Well said Nadge. I can do it! All I need to do is just ignore that 28 year old voice in my head saying, "You can't do it because it is ridiculous for you to even try when clearly you are needed on your toes to serve everyone else's passing desires. How dare you think of changing, shifting, flipping things upside down?!" Yes. A question and an exclamation at once.

I can do it!?

Today, I was flying with grace higher and higher. Exciting myself by my daredevilry.
One, go...go...go..
Two, good...see....good
Three, don't be scared, Sethu.. you can do it
Four, AaaaaaaUuuuuuuuuugh ! Yeah! :o)
Five, See! Wow! See...
Six, wow am I actually doing this
Seven, Almost...my legs almost touched the wall
Eight, YEESSS! Ooooouch!

On my head, kerplunking like a string puppet whose master ran out to take an urgent piss.

Left.
Relinquished.
Quitclaimed.
Thrown.

Into the dark abysmal waters that contain a fierce gravity.

Zero-X-Posur, it says on my new swim-wear. Yes! No more exposure to those years of scary dreams because I am going to play negotiating game with water. "You let me glide through you in that calming way of yours, and I will trust you."

Yes. I am going to swim. I am going plunge myself again. Not into that dark abyss with an uncertain end, but simply into cool and clear waters. Yes. I am going to take a nice dip in the pool.

wisps

2009-03-03T13:18:00.001-08:00

like an xray. the bones so vivid
all bones, nothing but bones
bones and black spaces.
black spaces,
empty spaces,
black spaces,
dark spaces,
complete spaces,

completely hidden spaces,
completely hidden spaces filled
with grain, strain, languages, silences, stillness, the flow

of breathy,
cloudy wisps,
shaped
by indiscernible winds

smoky bridges that
entwine word to woven word
and elucidate
the dark
complete
spaces

me and my fly socks

2009-01-15T08:50:00.000-08:00

wet socks, dry socks, me and my fly socks
not just fly socks
flying high in the sky socks
shy socks, guy socks, plaid socks, tie-dye socks
yummy yummy rye socks,
wet socks, dry socks, me and my fly socks

the illusion-fusion matrix

2009-01-08T14:21:00.001-08:00

in our civil society, we have trash cans in regular intervals of space.

we delight momentarily for what the receptacle represents to us;

- our sense of responsibility to our environment
- our love for cleanliness
- our consolation that there is a logical end to our exploits

we establish in our mind the value of these bins, and rest assured that we have done our part, and that all will be well.

where do those millions of styrofoam boxes that we eat out from go? what happens to the billions of snapple bottles and soda cans? where does all that clear plastic film go?

down the joy ride of the garbage shoot, into color coded trucks, that dump the crap into multi-colored, mult-layered, multi-olfactory, multi-poisonous dumps.

soon we will grow styrofoam trees with green, yellow, orange plastic leaves that will produce polyoxygen for us to breathe deep into our beautiful lungs.

oh how we thrive in this guilt-ridden sense of responsibility, dance in our square inches of clean space in this illusion-fusion matrix of a civil society of ours!

a longer way to go

2008-11-26T22:32:00.000-08:00

my mother always scolded me for resting my head in my hands while i ate food. she said in my disinterest for the food, i am disrespecting this most divine gift.

so whenever something ails me and i want to lay the burden in my mind upon my own hands, i remember her words and in the respect for the gift of food, refrain from the action.

today again, i do as she says.

i look upon the piece of paper awarded to me for my rigorous study at this acclaimed university and as i read the words "to all persons to whom these presents may come greeting be it known that sethu laxmi nair...." all i can remember are the words my mother once uttered upon the receipt of another such piece of paper...

"don't congratulate her," she said. "she isn't done yet, she has a long way to go."

i look at the words and think well...this is addressed to all those to whom these presents may come greeting...and that person today certainly isn't sethu laxmi nair, because as always...

she has a longer way to go.

my long hair

2008-11-26T13:49:00.001-08:00

i wonder what it is about hair that makes me want to chop it off when i'm upset. in the moment it feels like a way to say SCREW YOU to all who love me for my beautiful hair. but then what?

then... i'm sad that my hair is gone.

my beautiful long hair.

so what now? yeah so it grows back. but it grows back oh so slowly; a half an inch a month. so it will take what seems like many millenia. until then i try to love it. this way and that, and no which way does it.

on another day i could probably ponder a little farther and figure out that my hair represents something and that the loss of it means something, and probably that the time it takes to grow back could be a time i can think of as something symbolic and find a way to grow within myself.

but today is not that day.

today i'm just frustrated.

Fostering a New Breed of Social Entreprenuers

2008-11-10T09:41:00.000-08:00

The strength and dynamism of the microfinance industry lies in its ability to adapt to change, find ways to make programs self-sufficient, bring in big investment into small rural markets while fostering the entrepreneurial spirit of the populations it serves.

The MBA student turned social entrepreneur is the bright new face of microfinance. Business students interested in making a change while making a profit were the target audience for the October 20th event, Micro-finance and Beyond: Enterprise Solutions to Poverty held at New York University’s Stern School for Business.

Hosted by UNIFEM’s Young Professionals group and the NYU Microfinance Initiative, the event featured Nancy Barry. A pioneer in the field of microfinance, Barry worked at the World Bank and launched the Bank’s initiative to lend to small businesses. After 15 years of service, Barry left the World Bank in 1990 to join Women's World Banking as its President. At Women's World Banking, Barry expanded the organization’s reach to include nearly 20 million low income entrepreneurs around the world.

“In microfinance, there is a new breed of social entrepreneur,” Barry said, “and this new breed has two main characteristics; they will be committed to social enterprise and have the mission to manage business on a massive scale.”

According to Barry, it is time to take poverty eradication out of the hands of well meaning but inefficient NGO’s and have it be solved by the innovation and acumen of the business world. “Poverty is a big problem and it requires big solutions. It is no longer just a field for hobby NGO’s. What we need is the next wave of pioneers who believe that serving the poor can be a sustainable and profitable endeavor,” Barry said.

It is this belief that prompted Barry’s latest endeavor, Nancy Barry Associates: Enterprise Solutions to Poverty. Working in conjunction with the Inter-American Development Bank, this initiative has the specific goal of developing innovative and competitive business models, encouraging micro-entrepreneurs and mobilizing MBA students towards finding innovative solutions to fight poverty.

Effective business models according to Barry have to go beyond loan provision. “Microfinance should also be about savings, investments, asset building, health care and life insurance,” she said. Barry also believes that it is possible to have sustainable programs without high interest rates.

In her talk, Barry cited E-choupal as an example of a successful endeavor that benefits all parties involved. E-choupal is an initiative by the Indian Tobacco Company (ITC) - one of the leading agricultural processing companies of India- that helps farmers in rural India get past profit hoarding middle-men and make their own large profits. Using the internet kiosks set up by the company, farmers are able to access information such as changing market prices and trends and weather patterns; knowledge that helps farmers improve the quality of their produce and increase production. Improved process and quality control at the farmer level translates to higher and more plentiful products that the ITC then purchases from those farmers at competitive market rates. “E-choupal in India is an innovative and highly effective solution because it allows corporations to connect with communities,” Barry asserted.

Barry urged the large group of students to have faith in themselves and put their good ideas to use. “Don’t go to McKinsey after you graduate” she said. “Jump on an airplane and put your good ideas to use. You have to do more than analyze. This is about you MBA’s making a difference in the world.”

The end of her talk followed a lively question-answer session, in which Barry was asked to express her thoughts on varying issues. One audience member asked whether microfinance has lead to the disempowerment of women. Barry responded by addressing the inherent intrusiveness of microfinance particularly in societies that traditionally keep women within the home. “In Bangladesh for example, directly outside a meeting of women can be found a circle of men can be found standing and watching and according to Barry “probably wondering why them not me.” According to Barry, research in Bangladesh has shown that only one-third of the borrowers have full control over their money and use it for their own businesses. “But I’m okay with that, Barry explained. “Even if you are giving money to your husband, you still have power and a voice.”

When asked whether it really is possible to combine good social entrepreneurship with the dirty business of making money, Barry asserted that it is not an issue of ethics. “It is about smart business,” she said. “I do believe you can create a culture in an industry that celebrates profit without ripping off the poor. Women’s World Banking and initiatives like E-choupal are examples of the possibility that we can have an ethos of healthy profitability.”

More than a tick in the box! A VOTE.

2008-11-03T15:37:00.000-08:00

so it's that time again, the time to as they say...

to live your vlaues,
to show love to your country,
to own your right
to fulfill your responsibility

it is time to vote

and yes i will be voting,

but i wonder what we are voting for...or should i say who we are voting for.

don't get me wrong...i am a typical liberal, lefty type you know, human rights, civil liberties, universal health care, peace, love, green and harmony for all....WOOOO HOOO! yeah! (i'm also a bit of a hippie i've been told)

but like everyone else, i cannot be contained in a 5 millimeter square on a blue and white form.

i too am full of nuances and contradictions.
fiscally conservative, partially socialist, completely pro-choice, an atheistic temple lover, hyper-actively introspective, a dreamy realist, a self-isolating social butterfly, often caught perching on the thin line between sanity and madness.

getting off topic? NO

the personal is political without a doubt. but then why are we all so out of touch? why does it take so much for us to get involved?

perhaps because there isn't much of a difference.

years of media-pot boiling, corporation pan-searing, opinion poll over-cooking has left me with meager remains...two parties, that at their core are not so different.

but lets question that too. yes they are not so different. as chomsky says both parties are really just one large business party.

but that is the reality of our time. we have chosen it to be so.

azar nafisi says it best in her book "reading lolita in tehran" 'he did what he did to us because we allowed him to,' she said as she reflected upon why the iranians were subject to the oppressive regime of the ayatollah khomeini.

and that is what this is too. we have very little to choose from because we have let it be so.

so here i am on the eve before the big day...NOV. 4th.

no i am not confused as to whom i will cast my vote.

obama spoke to me, grabbed my attention in the same way he did for many others.

about the abortion issue he said, 'yes i am pro-choice', but he also said, 'now come on! no one is anti-life.' that struck me. in a race, in an atmosphere where faithfulness to one idea has come to mean hatred and disregard for the opposing idea, obama asserted that it is not so.

(i must take a moment here to assert my disgust that abortion is actually a key election issue)

about the war and foreign policy, he does not assume a knowledge and aptitude he does not have. he makes it clear that his will not be a regime of one.

about islam, while he asserted that he is not a muslim, that he is a christian, he immediately afterwards spoke about why we should not be talking about islam in such a way. he spoke to me when he said, it is unfair and unjust to our fellow muslim-americans to assume that being a muslim equals being anti-american.

he values going slow, taking time. (a crucial characteristic for every politician)

obama has an understanding and respect for nuance, for differences. in heated times he can remain patient, even while playing the political game, his words leak his ability to be beyond that game.

more than a tick in the box...this time, i think.

plunging into the last lear

2008-10-25T15:44:00.000-07:00

i watched a film today that through every shot and every movement of every character exuded the passion of its creator…its writer, its director…rituparno ghosh.

and i loved it… "the last lear". i loved it so much that it left me feeling so…agitated. so acutely agitated that it provoked me to write this blog.

well...what was so amazing about this film? in order to answer that question, i have to first answer this question. what does writing mean for me?

i registered for this blogsite in april of 2007. since then every once in a while something would compel me to log on to my site, (as i was compelled to today). so i would log. and then i would get excited in a way that the word excitement fails to do justice to the feeling.

that moment...a cusp.

once again i stood at that waters edge.

how many times i have stood at that waters edge, at the rim of that well, at the mouth of that universe and....and continued to stand.

no! never. i never jumped in. i never dangled my legs in the water. i never even dipped my toe.

for i stood there arrested and immobile.

suddenly held captive by a force, that was no force at all.

i looked and i saw. i looked into the black water and saw everything and nothing.

the water was black so i could never see past the surface. i could never guage the depth that i seeked. did i stand in front of a river moving forward, an ocean of unimaginable depth, or just the sweet faces the rains leave behind...a puddle?

i stood. arrested, by the memory. the memory that has come to be the visceral manifestation of all my fears. those repeated moments in time when i almost drowned. yes almost drowned in an actual body of water. those moments when i stopped thinking, when sheer panic set in and i flapped about positioned vertically in the water fighting gravity with all my might, to experience just once more... a breath of air.

i would log in to this blog, stare at the screen. the cloud of excitement rolling into thunderstorms of fear.... a gong of thunder...then faster than lightning, i would log out.

a long time later, i logged in again, and decided i would write something...anything...and write especially not for those other eyes that look through my own.

write something...anything...because i was ready to dip a toe.

and so did. i dipped a toe, and then another, and then another. but never one whole foot.

and that was the agitation that arose...that ghosh brought back.

the agitation of having allowed the distractions of my physical existence to overwhelm me, overwhelm me enough to pursue some prescribed remedy. overwhelm me enough to let a fog cloud over the already impenetrable black waters, overwhelm me enough to forget what writing means to me.

perhaps with this blog, i have dipped one foot.

…..

and you still want to know what was so amazing about this film?

my visual dna

2008-09-19T18:45:00.000-07:00

http://youniverse.com/me/6353382/personality/feedback

the street to almost moon

2008-09-17T14:54:00.000-07:00

from racial discrimination and poverty in harlem in the 1940's (the street-ann petry), to a very homogenous suburb in pennsylvania (the almost noon-alice sebold), carefully cornered rage meets with that last piece of intolerable action that leads to muted, cold-blooded, passionate, painful murder.

be the cause the poverty and the inescapable frustration of circumstance, that no amount of will can fight or the complex and threadbare mother-daughter, love-hate relationship, how dangerous this anger can be!

fascinating is the creativity and the frequency of the subdued rage, and the innocent visage of cool composition.

so calmly frightening is the crime and the self-expulsion that follows.

hope

2008-09-11T08:36:00.000-07:00

multi-faceted fear

2008-09-10T14:02:00.000-07:00

when it comes it comes so torrentially, threatening to break down each of the carefully packed brick on the wall of self preservation.

debilitating, crumbling, crushing us into that eternal, deep, despair.

movement restricted by unseen forces,
heart twisted and wrenched by evil hands,
brain arrested by sheer terror

multi-faceted fear

deep dark brown

2008-09-09T20:46:00.000-07:00

it has been a while since i found myself amidst the green of leaves, in the moist coolness of soil, since i was touched tenderly by the ethereal rays of the sun bleeding through the leafy sky, since i saw the deep dark brown of trees made wet by the rains.

it has been quite some time since a hand carressed my cheeks so gently that it seemed like clouds had come to play, since my body was held as gently as a flower, since deep loving eyes have gazed into my face and made me feel as beautiful as the earth.

mere mehboob tujhe

2008-09-03T08:45:00.000-07:00

"Dhoond tha hoon tujhe har raah mei har mehfil meinThak gaye hai meri majboor tamanna ki kadam..."
-Shakeel Badayuni

padma

2008-09-03T07:16:00.000-07:00

padma- vedanti kolhe

by vedanti kolhe

ruminations

2008-07-08T07:40:00.000-07:00

showing your vulnerability does not indicate a weakness.

weak are those who exploit vulnerability.

equating adulthood to some state in which you do not need love and support is sheer foolishness. what strength is there in denying your emotions? being able to accept yourself as you are, allwoing you vulnerability to show, not being afraid of being hurt are all signs of courage and strength.