A few weeks ago I was visiting a dear friend, Hema. She is an artist who after many years of being mostly with her children and tending to their needs is now getting back to her artist’s way. She had her working desk, easel, her paints and brushes in a corner below the stairway that went up to the terrace. Early mornings while her two children and my two children were still in bed, we would often sit together and talk. I sat on a step on the stairway and she at her desk. We shared out personal journeys and heart felt moments, often at that space of hers during the day or even late into the night. Now she has converted the guest room into her studio.

During my stay she drew a few sketches of me and also painted at potrait of me. She put a chair below the stairway and cushions to make me comfortable. Ravi, her husband placed a small side table next to the chair with cups of tea for me. We played Abida Parveen on the iPad. As Hema drew me she handed me a book by Natalie Goldberg. Natalie is a writer and helps people to be writers. So sometimes I read the book and sometimes I wrote in my notebook as Hema painted. In between we spoke of our inner expressions.

The book I was reading has a chapter on the ‘Wild Mind’ and Natalie talks of writing from that space in the mind which is wild and then in the next chapter she writes about using that ‘Wild Mind’ to write about what the writer calls home.

So as Hema drew me, and I drank a glass of wine, I allowed my wild mind to write this…one of those nights when we gave way to each of our artist’s way…

“Home is the wild thoughts that run like horses on the meadows of my mind. Home is the space on a bed close to the floor on which a surreal I is spread out waiting for life to unfurl on its own. Home is a room with a window the grills of which touch a Neem tree that is tall enough to kiss it gently as it sways with cool monsoon breeze. Home is the tingling sensation of energy running up my spine and the sound of the pounding of my wild and passionate heart, the silence of my unbound soul. Home is the cry of ecstasy as my beloved touches my back with his long and gentle fingers. Home is the comfort of the embrace when my beloved  entwines my whole body with his long legs and arms as I stroke his thin body with my short and stubby hands.”

Thank you Hema for making those moments the most erotic and creative moments of my life….and giving me a great homecoming party.

Dola

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