Navratri begins today, the festival of nine nights, the festival dedicated to the Mother Goddess in all her forms, her avatars.
An auspicious time after the period of obeisance to one’s ancestors known and unknown, all the strangers who have passed me the genes I carry.
There’s a smile in the air. On the road, strangers walk by, swishing silks with golden borders have replaced office formals. This evening, the roads will be festooned with lights, and I’ll strain to hear and sing along to half-forgotten words. I’ll look at the pinpoint stars past the haze, and remember the lush greens and riotous yellows I drink in every morning, her grace real and ever renewing, my lifeblood.