| Fourth of July, 2012
What is this day without fireworks?
I would be insulting the land I have grown to love.
So, I joined my grandson to
sit by a field and watch the fireworks.
Got to the park early and claimed seats in the grass,
and as we impatiently waited for it to get dark,
we played a game ,throwing a nurf ball
A huge golden moon stood sentinel at the east
horizon. It added mystique.
When, finally the show began,
blasts of red white blue and green
filled the skies in front of us,
giant sparklers rose one after the other
in rapid-fire sequence.
Now the show was all white, turning to gold dust.
It was a tossup; hard to decide
which one was more beautiful?
All colors or just white and gold?
Tough decision, but lucky for our eyes,
All colors were repeated, and white explosions
that melted into a golden lamé draping the skies
Closed my eyes and remembered.
Indian Independence came in August 1947.
Within two years the Indian Republic formed
first Republic day Parade in January 1950,
at the Pangode military base in my town,
Lord Mountbatten came to say goodbye
before he left for England for good.
Prancing white horses leading,
the tricolor orange, white and green flag flying high,
and the new national anthem sung loud with pride.
My dad had already taught us the words
from poet Tagore’s rendering.
Then came the fireworks, dazzling and deafening
I held tight on to my dad’s hand.
Free. We were free at last
to define our own destiny.
And mine was to come far far away,
across the seven seas to this land of the free.
Initial heartaches disappeared when I
learned to love, respect and care for my adopted country.
And, here I stand proudly,
hand over heart
in honor of the great red, white, and blue
I have two different kinds of dreams, most of us do.
One I dream when I am asleep, and the other when I am awake. It is in the way I live my life in the times between my dreams that I define myself.
I have found it important that I take heed in both types of dreams. They have taught me lessons in understanding myself, face the ups and downs in my life, and helped to find a fine balance in my life.
I had been dreaming about bathing in the holy waters of Maa Ganga since I was 11 years old.
In 2011 I was able to travel with a group of pilgrims, including family members to Gangotri, where the River Ganges originates from the Himalayas. I was blessed and energized by the power of her rushing waters.
My Pilgrimage to Maa Ganga, or Mother Ganges (as we call the River Ganges,) took me to the slopes of the mighty Himalayan mountains wherefrom four tributaries of the River Ganges flow down to nourish the plains of North India.
My memoir, Song of the Mountains, documents my spiritual voyage in the Himalayan Mountains.
My blog of this memoir can be read at http://songofthemountains.wordpress.com