samaya11

[samaya11]

My work boots are the most expensive shoes I’ve ever owned.

Also the most comfortable. I chose them after trying on several different brands and comparing lifespan vs usage vs comfort - I needed them for a physically demanding job, not the weekend hiking trails. I could have easily chosen cheaper boots that would have lasted long enough to be worth their low price, but I know the Sam Vimes Boot Theory and knew weaker, less comfortable boots would make my life harder in the long run.

So when the outside edge of the heel started wearing down after three years of heavy use I went to the shop I got them from and said “hey this is a common problem for me with how I walk but now it’s affecting my ankles and knees and I don’t wanna have to buy a new pair, is there a way to fix this?”

The salesman at this very fancy upscale boot store said “oh yeah, there’s a shoe repair place that can give you some heel guards - it’ll keep the rubber from wearing out.”

So at 8am this morning right after my 9hr shift ends I went to the shoe repair shop and it is the most hole-in-the-wall, is-this-a-real-business-or-a-mafia-front, am-I-gonna-get-shot tiny cinder block cube I’ve ever seen in my life. I grew up plenty poor and love me a good hole-in-the-wall business, but going from upscale store to this cash-only repair shop gave me whiplash. Wasn’t expecting this when a guy who wears three piece suits to sell boots said it’s the best place to go.

The skinny kid behind the counter looks somehow 16 and 25 at the same time, but when I tell him this place was recommended he smiles and says to hand over my boots. I hand him the vaguely warm foot-smelling boots, and stand in my socks in the 3’ square entryway surrounded by every color leather polish you could buy and watch as he turns my boots around in his hands, sizes up a crescent moon bits of plastic, and unceremoniously hammers tiny nails through them before handing them back.

The heels are perfectly level again. I can walk without almost rolling my ankles. They don’t clack loudly on the pavement or feel different. This is gonna fix my knee pain. It cost $10.

This kid had every tool he needed within arms reach, worked fast and smoothly, I was in and out the door in less than 8 minutes, and it only cost $10.

I didn’t think anything could cost only $10 anymore. I’m so used to hyperinflation prices I was spiritually thrown back to the 1400’s visiting the cobbler in town square. This kid might have been that cobbler and just decided to never die.

I’m still reeling from the whiplash, and gobsmacked at the price, and thrilled I didn’t have to go buy new, worse work boots (cuz I don’t have that kind of money for a second pair, I’m expecting these ones to last a decade) and it feels like I just experienced one of the rare little chunks of magic that floats around our world.

[samaya11]

"Your Ankh-Morpork soldiers aren't in a position to protect you, however."

"Sir, you are right. You could have me killed right now," said de Worde simply. "You know that. I know that. But you won't, for three reasons. The officers of Borogravia tend towards honor. Everyone says that. That's why they don't surrender. And I bleed most distressingly. And you don't need to, because everyone's interested in you! Suddenly, it's all changed!"

"Interested in us?"

"Sir, in a sense you could help a lot right now. Apparently, people back in Ankh-Morpork were amazed when...look, have you heard about what we call 'human interest,' sir?"

"No."

De Worde tried to explain. Blouse listened with his mouth open, and at the end, said:

"Have I got this right? Although many people have been killed and wounded in this wretched war, it's not been of much 'interest' to your readers? But it is now, just because of us? Because of a little skirmish in a town they've never heard of? And because of it, we're suddenly a 'plucky little country' and people are telling your newspaper that your great city should be on our side?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. We put out a second edition last night, you see."

Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

[samaya11]

The Tale of the Perfume Thief and Other Misadventures

(Based on partly true stories of my late sister Dipa)

Dipa and I were sitting in the courtyard of our ancestral home in Navsari, India. She was telling me about her latest obsession - collecting miniature perfumes. She had already amassed a small collection from our travels around the world, but she was determined to add more to it.

As she spoke, I noticed a mischievous glint in her eyes. She leaned in closer and whispered, "Pri, I have a plan. I want to steal some perfumes from the local store. Will you be my lookout?"

I was hesitant at first, but Dipa was always the adventurous one. She convinced me that it would be fun, and that we wouldn't get caught. So, I reluctantly agreed.

The next day, we put our plan into action. Dipa distracted the shopkeeper while I kept watch. She quickly pocketed a few miniature perfumes and we made our escape.

We were giddy with excitement as we ran back to our house. Dipa showed me her loot, and we giggled like schoolgirls. But as the days went by, I started to feel guilty. What we had done was wrong, and I knew it.

I tried to talk to Dipa about it, but she brushed it off. "It's just a few perfumes, Pri. No harm done," she said.

But the guilt ate away at me, and I couldn't shake it off. Eventually, I confessed to my grandmother, who scolded us both for our misdeeds. Dipa was angry with me for a while, but we eventually made up.

Years later, after Dipa had passed away, I found myself thinking about that day. It was a small, insignificant moment in the grand scheme of things, but it was a reminder of the bond we shared. We were partners in crime, always looking out for each other, always pushing each other to be bolder and braver.

And now, as I held her miniature perfume collection in my hands, I realized that what I wanted was not just a physical object, but a memory. A memory of the times we shared, the secrets we kept, and the love we had for each other.

[samaya11]

The Godess Awakens

In my room

For my Grandmother Deviben born 1923-2001

As Amba Patel in Limbe, Malawi

4 am - London

In my room

The Goddess awakens

me with Her singing

I have been holding her hand as I sleep

Her thin long bony fingers

The only protection I need from

the shifting shadows on the wall

The monsters under the bed

At 6am

The six year old me watches

from under thick tartan blankets

as she performs her holy ablutions

After her own morning rituals

Combing silver strands into

Thin tight helix braid

Fraying at the ends

Mimicking the DNA strands

That bind us

Decontaminating

Is her holy ritual

She is elbows

She is force

Carving at the decay

And grime the world brings

Shakti

There is Dettol and Vicks and incense

To cleanse the body and the spirit according to her methods

Dressed in white head to toe

Mostly white hair in a bun

Pure sari on an impossibly long thin frame whit

Thick white wooly socks that once wore toe rings

She is not delicate

Never that

She is firm and flattens us all smooth like a hot iron with nothing but her sharp tongue

And expectations

Pressing out all the creases

I inherited from my mother

with their unforgiving steam

She is brittle and hard like iron

Yet even kyphosis is elegant on her

If you can make her laugh and smile

You can rewind the years to see

Her warm joy before it was stolen

By customs, tragedy, migration

She is a misplaced bird

With wings she can never use

locked away in this cage of duty

Within invisible parameters

Society calls love

From under the bed covers I watch

as she bathes her murtis by dawn light

Then proceeds to greet them and divide the entire universe evenly into 18 sacred sections

Gita Ganga Gayatri

Sita Satya Sarasvati

Brahmavidya …

20 years later

Long after the clearest memories of her gold bangles are gone

The sweet fragrance of Vibhuti, Bhasma, Chandan and kumkum fade

I search for the Hindu Gods In the periodic table

Particularly Shani

Nilanjan Samabhasam

Ravi Putra Yama Ganjam…

As my way of communion with her spirit of intellectual curiosity mixed with childlike wonder and faith. My attempt of reaching back through time to bridge the ionic bonds

That tore her family apart

If she had been born in any other era she would have manifested her true power

And ruled the world firmly but compassionately and changed it for the better.

Now

As I study my microbiology notes and antiseptic techniques

There She is again

Her teachings her blessings

Acting as the phospholipids

In my spiritual membrane

Her Hygiene OCDs justified

Open tap

Wash hands

Wash taps

Wash hands again

In scalding soapy water

Open cabinet door

Wash hands

Her methodology

For reverence

Godliness next to

Cleanliness

If only if I could have told her about Lister & Louis Pasteur

I’m sure she would have smiled and agreed

They were worthy of Murtis too

But I am done collecting old Gods & New

Decades later I realise

While I was searching for the wrong God in all the cliched places

All I need to remember

Is DeviMa of my youth

X /18= 108

4am - Houston

In My room

The Goddess awakens

Within Me.

Priya Ramesh Desai, 2023 @Samaya11

[samaya11]

Tips from a Future RN

It’s not selfish to think of yourself; it’s called self-care.

Self care is the poetical ramblings and angry doodles that keep you sane through Microbiology

And the insane amount of extra hand washing and Lysol you now use because E.coli seems to beat to it’s own drummer. The invisible mask you wear anyway is finally acceptable to be manifested as the N95 when Viruses & Prions are your new nightmare but also your muse

Self care is jump-roping in your garage or kitchen even though you have 13 assignments due this week in Canvas and toddlers that claim they need right away you every 15 minutes

It is taking that long run right after 1 class before you get to your next class for those weight bearing exercises you learned you will need in AP I.

AP II is Learning how to arm yourself with the knowledge that your body might just betray you, that you can’t stop some genes from expressing but you can learn to respect the systems within you, cooperate and make peace. That your gut is in more control than your brain ever thought.

PSYC 2314 is Knowing your own trigger warnings and releasing yourself from the categories the world has seen fit to put you into. It is appreciation of being defined as a Dandelion

Self care is firmly sticking up for your own self without making your blood pressure rise or theirs.

It is is finally blocking the number of that person who thrives on making snide remarks

So they don’t invade your REM sleep & subconsciously stifle your dreams

Self care is taking ownership of all your faults and imperfections whether born of nature or nurture. Accountability without the self flagellation of shame and dwelling on the past mistakes stored in the hippocampus we take for granted

Self care is taking back your name

And carrying it with pride on your tongue

With all its taste receptors that has in turn

Learned with excitement to adapt to a vegan MIND diet of raw dark leafy greens, antioxidants and omegas without sacrificing flavour, culture and ethics

Self care is forgiveness in degrees

From superficial to deep levels

Lateral to medial

Looking in the mirror in anatomical position

Palms facing the viewer

Fingers free of weapons

knowing that forgiveness does not equal

reconciliation or erase the past

Self care is apologizing not only to the person in the mirror with the new gray hairs and the stretch marks that remained long after the línea nigra disappeared

but to every avatar you have manifested in this lifetime

Including the most insecure prepubescent versions of you at your inner mental core before your developing prefrontal cortex had better cognition

That what you were experiencing was not love but abuse

That fear and anxiety are normal responses to the tribulations they put you through

Self care sounds exhausting

But it allows you the escape

the room to breathe

deep and exhale

Using your intercostals and obliques

Pushing images of past failures

Using your body and your wits

to progress to a better you

Om

Namah

Shivay

Priya Ramesh Desai, 2023 @samaya11

[samaya11]

When I say I love you I mean

I believe in you

I trust you

I respect you

I am loyal to you

I am willing to be ruined

And move to the darkest corner of the earth

I would risk poverty and hatred

I would give away my name

For love.

And it is not contained to romantic love

Or blood bond love

Or even voluntary friendship love

It is the weird kindred soul connection

That makes one feel less alone in this world

I love you truly in that deeply freeing way

it means I will take the fall for you

No questions asked.

To make sure you are safe AND free.

I will take care of you in life.

I will honour your memory in death.

So just a reminder

When I say

I love you

There are no parameters

No parentheses

No end

Priya Ramesh Desai, 2022 @samaya11

[samaya11]

Wound Care

In my emotional first aid kit:

Memories of Dettol and cotton wool

My Grandmother’s widow white sari

1. Clean the area and apply pressure to stop the bleeding

2. Cover the cut with a bandages so it doesn’t become infected

I cannot stand to look in the mirror

My eyes and hair look just like the ones who tried to keep me in bondage all these years

It's taken me decades to learn:

It’s not my job to make anyone love me

It’s not anyones job but mine to treat the wounds so I can heal.

— Priya Ramesh Desai, 2022 @samaya11

[samaya11]

Wild Flower Dreams

You have the majesty

of the brilliant sun

with it's nuturing power.

With just one glance

You warm my heart

and make me glow.

I am a mere flower

upturning my face

towards you,

Craving your rays

to cast down on my body

basking me in your light.

At night, when you are gone I revert

to a secretive bud closed tight waiting

to reveal my true face only to you.

Honeybees during the day dip

to steal the nectar from me

But i don't worry because

this sweet fragrance they seek is

my very devotion of you

created by your first smile

the source

of which is

infinite.

Priya Ramesh Desai, 2012 @samaya11

[samaya11]

[samaya11]

Pitra Doshi

Our bloodline is cursed

By the angry spirits of ancestors

At least this is what my father insists

As he consults Vedic astrology charts

I claim I don’t believe such nonsense

Yet I do believe in generational trauma,

In vicious cycles that spiral into whirlpools

Of lost ambitions and silent despair

I speak to everyone I meet in blessings

Partly to reverse this spiritual blemish

Let the sins of our Fathers be paid

By the virtues of our Mothers today

The burden is weighted unjustly

But your daughters can right it if you

Acknowledge their blood was never unclean

Support them as equal in measure to sons

@samaya11 2022, Priya Ramesh Desai

Book release coming!Summer2022.

[samaya11]

The Tiny Devotee

A six-toothed elf shoves these things one by one under the bathroom door while I take a shower:

A half eaten cracker,

extra crunchy leaves,

a lego figurine

his big brothers hot wheels car come zooming through next, (he now seems unsure of this one and takes some time to try to poke fingers and toes through the door to retrieve it)

After giving up, here comes

a wet sock

I wonder if in his small yet quickly expanding universe these are offerings to appease a deity.

There is quiet as he patiently waits to see if his Goddess Mother has acknowledged and accepted.

As I attempt to express shampoo and condition my hair, I note there is a sudden change

He is laying on his back now and kicking the door with his feet. The message loud and clear in unmistakable baby Morse code:

Please don’t forget me, please come back, please answer me, please, please, please

I hear his angry cries of protest as his father tries to subdue him.

Then quiet.

“i want Momma Daddy?” The tiny voice tries this time.

I open the door with a bemused questioning smile and still wet hair

But in his eyes Goddess Mother is answering a prayer.

— Priya Ramesh Desai, 2022 @samaya11

[samaya11]

London Night was published in 1934 and featured 50 photos from Harold Burdekin capturing the capital in the hours of darkness. This is Trafalgar Square in all its atmospheric, Bovril-lit glory.

[samaya11]

Don't be defined by the worst thing that has happened to you. We are not static beings; a defeatist attitude will eventually kill us, if not physically, then prematurely through emotional death. Trauma, hardship, loss, pain are part of the dual citizenship of life-- to be healthy and to experience dis-ease are the light and the shadows of living.

The challenge is to experience uncomfortable sensations and then move through them beyond their city limits to a renewed settlement beneath the stars. Use conflict as a means of testing the measure of your fear.

What would you do now to envision a future for yourself? How will you lean out over precipice of your comfort and take a risk toward creativity? What debilitating habits or mindsets are you willing to jettison for the sake of your sojourn into a new enriching, empowering life?

Rhapsodyinblue80// shadow and light

2.22.22

Image: futuristic art- duchy renaissance

[samaya11]

Sunday Morning Runs

Sunday morning runs are my church

A confessional for all I’ve tried to run from.

Each breath, each footfall heavy

The wounds reopening with the weight

These days I know I’m close to redemption

When I pivot from self-flagellation

to run instead

Towards something worth the distance

New achievable goals

The squeals and smiles of tiny baby-toothed faces

A life and home that nourish me

With much better than I deserve.

Why does no one ever admit

Forgiveness is a daily stretch

That never really ends

But makes the toll easier.

— Priya Ramesh Desai, 2021 @samaya11

[samaya11]

Somewhere on an east london rooftop

Somewhere on an east london roof top, or by those tall creaky outdoor house stairs where we lived on mornington road

(that lets just admit was probably laden with poisonous lead or asbestos)

Maybe a trace remains on an old ledge by a Connaughts school for girls or the bathroom door of a place that somehow withstood time and hope

I like to think there is a “Dipa Patel woz here” scrawled in her neat cursive into the stone or in now invisible ink

(probably originally in green or purple ink because why be ordinary when you can be Dipa)

Her imprint

Still survives

Just like her

Presence in my life

These marks do not wash off

She was here

And I am better for it.

— Priya Ramesh Desai, 2021 @samaya11

[samaya11]

Thursday’s Child

Skinned knees are a blessing

Proof of living deeply in wonder

Your imaginary friend

A gateway to God

Comfort, faith, strength, love

Gems to be found

On the playground

In the back yard

The bike ride to school

You are strong

You are brave

You are patient

You are kind

You are smart

— Priya Ramesh Desai, 2021 @samaya11

[samaya11]