Poornima Laxmeshwar |
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Heart as a headache
In each of Appa’s stories; the heart of the monster is alive in a caged parrot. He disapproves of my
emotion when I say I feel morose about the parrot being killed to save the world from evil. When we
play chakkavachchi, the cowries decide if I can reach the heart of the board game. What’s the fuss
about the center of everything? My bestie gifts me a half heart pendant while the other half remains
to cling to her thick gold chain. She doesn’t realize that half and half is not really a whole. ‘Dil’ is the
word she says. I can only think of Madhuri Dixit doing ‘dhak, dhak’ and how when I walked the
streets, some random guy hummed the song. ‘Dil’ then becomes boobs.
I use peepal tree leaves as bookmarks. The leaves hang on like tired hearts while the tree is tied in
pools of thread. If only wishes could be measured in rounds. When I recollect the crocodile and
monkey’s sweet (heart) story, I am filled with reality. Reality that rests like heavy trunk, filled with
expensive collectibles and old documents of our land dispute. I unplug this world with Tracy
Chapman’s Matters of the Heart while he tries burning his cholesterol to stay away from a possible
heart attack.
In my meditation classes, I am learning to focus on my heart.
Inhale, exhale
Inhale, exhale
