Healing doesn’t mean to stop everything you’re doing. Keep moving forward even if it’s slow. As you move, your healing will occur.

One of the things that I don’t speak about openly in the wonderful and weird world of dreams. the dreamscape and experiences in dreams are always intriguing, oft times scary and sometimes too real and fantastic. Ive decided to document the ones I can remember.

I had one of my “those” dreams. 

It was a view of an expanse of many people walking along a dark cobbled path and I was above them possibly floating and I wonder where they’re going. then a voice says to take them on that road/path to the other side – to the underworld. I see this young person who looks very sad and has had a tough life and I feel my eyes well up and I seem to have a realisation that it’s time. So I take/carry them to this foamy icy river and then I lead them under the waters. Half expecting to see something scary and horrifying under the waters waiting to drown me/us. But to my surprise it’s nothing like that. We come under to a sky and a land that’s very Green and lush and serene. There’s another beautiful river there. There are many people/souls I can see and sense. There’s tremendous calm. This is the underworld. The place where souls come to reflect on the last physical existence that they’ve had. It seems once they’re done or ready, they flow along the river and move on to the next stage of their souls’ evolution or their next destination.

That’s the afterlife/underworld or ‘hell’. It’s not scary or terrifying or worrisome. It’s like a beautiful realm of an ashram along a river. 

I imagine that the underworld if this is what it is, is a place for souls to reflect, recollect and move on along their journey. The faint boats carrying the souls to whatever destination they need to go to from there. They must get pulled out of the river to their next destination.

And then I was awoken by my alarm sadly.

(Disclaimer: Artwork is my digital art interpretation of an old oil painting which feels very close to what I dreamt. Don’t know who the artists was.)

Returning to my home country is always a deeply anticipated event, filled with the excitement of reuniting with dear friends and the warmth of reconnecting with family. Each visit stirs a familiar mix of emotions, as I find myself caught between the joy of rekindling old friendships and the longing to spend quality time with my loved ones.

My friends, who have been by my side through countless adventures and life’s ups and downs, eagerly await our reunion. The thought of sharing laughter, reminiscing about our shared memories, and creating new ones fills me with happiness. These friendships, nurtured over the years, are an essential part of my identity and I feel such a deep sense of gratitude for them.

However, equally strong is my desire to be with my family. Being away from them for extended periods makes our time together precious and irreplaceable. Every moment spent with them feels like a balm to my soul, whether it’s enjoying a home-cooked meal, engaging in heartfelt or nonsensical conversations, or simply sitting together in comfortable silence. Their presence is a source of comfort and grounding that I miss deeply when I am away.

Balancing these two desires however is a delicate act. I yearn to make the most of every minute with my friends, yet I am acutely aware of the limited time I have with my family. It’s a challenge to navigate this dual longing, to ensure that neither my friendships nor family bonds are neglected. As time catches up, I can feel the tug of needing more time with my parents.

Ultimately, my hope is to find a harmony between these two worlds. I want to cherish the moments I have with my friends, to let them know how much they mean to me, while also dedicating ample time to my family, showing them the love and appreciation they deserve. Each visit home is a reminder of the deep connections I hold dear, and it’s these relationships that make my travels back so profoundly meaningful. Traversing this balance has always made me feel both sad and blessed at the same time and I do wish that there was a way I could navigate this better but somehow I know that I won’t be able to entirely fulfil either.

Perhaps this is something many others who live far from their home countries have felt too. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Ode to the hayfever season :

In summer’s warm and sunny glow,
The days stretch forever, the breezes slow,
The gardens burst with vibrant hues,
While skies transform to endless blues.

Yet, with the beauty comes a plight,
An unreachable itch from morning light,
My eyes, they water, red and raw,
My throat and ears, a ghastly itching flaw.

I love the fields, the trees, the blooms,
The fragrant air, nature’s delightful tunes,
But hayfever’s invisible hand,
Leaves me seeking for cover, where I stand.

Sunny days remain a mixed delight,
Where joy and sneezes dance in flight,
Still, nature’s beauty, I can’t deny,
Though itchy eyes make me ask why.

So, under cover, I may hide,
From pollen’s touch, in vain I bide,
A nature lover’s summer woe,
Embracing the season, sneezes in tow.

• written by yours truly 😄

Casting shadows on wary walls

the afternoon sun hums lazily at the ones

who choose to stay awake at this hour.

Intoxicated slumber keeps me still

as I wonder through dream lanes

looking for clues and answers of things beyond my understanding.

So many moments we’ve lived & so many we felt like life was taken away from us.

We fill the  pockets of our life’s coat with memories stuffing them into every little corner we can find.

Our souls wear warm scarves of loving in the winter of our experiences

& we take shade in the umbrella of friendships in the harsh sunlight of life.

We share cups of adventures & experiences over warm conversations.

Our coats sometimes show the weathering away of age

& sometimes we sew up the patches of sadness lovingly with the threads of forgiveness, compassion & understanding.

This coat is comfortable but it too will tear with age

and one day we will discard this one

& look out for the next one that the universe gives us…

ready for a new set of experiences and adventure.

At nine years old my imagination was beginning to get more active by the minute. Full moons and neighbourhood gossip from the aunties, the guards, the house help, etc. meant that there were plenty of stories around about witches and ghosts and other creepy things that nights were supposed to be made up of. It was meant to deter children from being extra nosy or venturing out at night by themsleves but of course at nine one is gullible and believes most things.

My much older cousin sister who was studying in Kolkata had come over with friends to stay over for a couple of days. They were in their late teens or early twenties I think. To accommodate all of them, I was put in a bedroom with my siblings – all four of us huddled together while my cousin and her friends slept in the living room. From the bedroom, one could see the dining room quite clearly. We went to bed quite early that night after a really fun day! Some time past midnight, my sleep broke. I think I might’ve been thirsty. I opened my eyes groggily and suddenly caught sight of something that made my blood run cold!

A headless white figure in a white dress stood by the dining table in the dining room! I was so terrified that I immediately shut my eyes and started praying like my life depended on it. I could feel my extremities go numb and the thought of opening my eyes and seeing the apparition again made me want to whimper. But then some strange sense of courage came upon me. I really got worried for my cousins and her friends. What if the headless ghost attacks them or scares them! Yikes! I had to do something I thought. So I mustered whatever little courage I had, I opened my eyes and turned my gaze towards the dining room.

What I saw next was quite unexpected indeed and a sight that came as a surprise. There was no ghost there! No weird mystical aura of any sort either. Just the moonlight reflected on the wall creating a silhouette with the curtains. I felt so silly and so relieved too. With a giggle, I went right back to sleep. Next morning I had a lot to share with my cousin, her friends and my family. 

What a night it had been! I was hoodwinked by moonlight and curtains.

I stumbled upon an old photo of mine. I must’ve been around 13-14 years old I guess. What I recall of that photo is that I used to love that outfit and this was also shortly before my elder sister managed to chop off all my tresses in the bid to make my hairstyle look more balanced. I was mistaken for a boy for a while after that everywhere I’d go. It was annoying at first but I learned to love it quickly.

This photo was taken in the balcony next to the living room.

That first floor apartment was oddly luxurious with its spacious terrace balcony towards the extreme end of the flat. I watched my father diligently create a terrace garden there. He grew everything in that smallish garden with no regard really for colour coordination etc. He’d rescue plants and they’d all flourish. He’d throw mystery seeds on the soil and they’d turn out to be something amazing! Couple of those plants are now gigantic trees at my dad’s home in Imphal.

In the photo the two rubber plants you see in the pots behind me are now massive trees. They’ve really framed my father’s house and stand tall and proud next to the gates. I didn’t realise that it was those two potted plants till my mother told me about them.

In the photo below, you can see the rubber trees at the upper left corner. And of course you can spot my father still tending to the trees, plants and paths around the house like he’s always done. Some of the trees have recently been chopped down to make way for a new building in front but the rubber trees still remain. They form a deep connection for me from my childhood – an assurance of continuity I imagine and also a testimony to my father’s incredible green thumb.