Looking at the last Noodle scribbled on my bedroom whiteboard, it struck me that I was being terribly arrogant to assume that a garden’s reality depends on human interaction. But we humans ARE terribly arrogant about so much of nature, we often think it belongs to us, to do with as we please. We forget that if there are aliens on this planet, they are us, and that nature circles on and around us inspite of us. I think Native American spirituality is the closest we ever get to being true “earthlings”.
I am arrogant
to think the garden unloved.
It’s worshipped daily.
What I like best about this Noodle is the way the title and the haiku complement one another.
Tuesday 17 May 2005
The roses of the Red Garden.
Is it a garden,
whose rows and rows of roses
nobody may kiss?
The phrase “rows and rows of roses” dropped into my head some time ago; I like the alliteration. And two things came to mind: first of all, Danielle, who also likes alliteration. I remember her saying so, and although I can’t remember any specific headlines right now, do recall her appreciating “a little alliteration” every now and then in my copy.
Then I thought of Lalbagh, Bangalore's Kew, whose buildings and walls are all of red hue (lal = red, bagh = garden), and of its rose garden, where indeed one can see rows and rows of roses of so many colours. They can be quite beautiful to pass by, but a high fence separates us because visitors would otherwise feel entitled to pluck them (we're not very good with boundaries in this country). I sometimes walk along the fence, hoping to get a whiff of the rich sweet fragrance of these roses, but I never do. No scent to inhale, and no permission to touch velvet and silk petals: it might just as well be a picture.
whose rows and rows of roses
nobody may kiss?
The phrase “rows and rows of roses” dropped into my head some time ago; I like the alliteration. And two things came to mind: first of all, Danielle, who also likes alliteration. I remember her saying so, and although I can’t remember any specific headlines right now, do recall her appreciating “a little alliteration” every now and then in my copy.
Then I thought of Lalbagh, Bangalore's Kew, whose buildings and walls are all of red hue (lal = red, bagh = garden), and of its rose garden, where indeed one can see rows and rows of roses of so many colours. They can be quite beautiful to pass by, but a high fence separates us because visitors would otherwise feel entitled to pluck them (we're not very good with boundaries in this country). I sometimes walk along the fence, hoping to get a whiff of the rich sweet fragrance of these roses, but I never do. No scent to inhale, and no permission to touch velvet and silk petals: it might just as well be a picture.
Tuesday 3 May 2005
You missed it.
Symphony above!
God conducts sky, just for me.
Below, rush hour shoves.
Since I discovered the rooftop, I’ve been exercising regularly, walking up and down for a half-hour every evening. It’s far more pleasant than driving through manic traffic to Richmond Park, which is full of other walkers anyway. One evening last week, I arrived upstairs in time for the sunset. It was magnificent. Everywhere I turned, there was something to take my breath away, and every time I turned back, there was something new, just as captivating. Clouds silhouetted against each other, the light, the shade, the hues, the slow peaceful drifting towards twilight. I could NOT walk. It was too glorious to ignore, too majestic to give precedence to my calories. Down below, I could hear rush hour traffic: restless, sweaty, impatient, tired.
God conducts sky, just for me.
Below, rush hour shoves.
Since I discovered the rooftop, I’ve been exercising regularly, walking up and down for a half-hour every evening. It’s far more pleasant than driving through manic traffic to Richmond Park, which is full of other walkers anyway. One evening last week, I arrived upstairs in time for the sunset. It was magnificent. Everywhere I turned, there was something to take my breath away, and every time I turned back, there was something new, just as captivating. Clouds silhouetted against each other, the light, the shade, the hues, the slow peaceful drifting towards twilight. I could NOT walk. It was too glorious to ignore, too majestic to give precedence to my calories. Down below, I could hear rush hour traffic: restless, sweaty, impatient, tired.
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