Setu 🌉 सेतु: Meenakshi Mohan

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Special Edition: Meenakshi Mohan

Meenakshi Mohan

Who will hold the light

Ke loibe mor kaarjo, kohe shondhya robi

Shuniya jogot rohe niruttor chhobi.

Matir prodip chhilo, she kohilo, shwami,

Amar jetuku shaddhyo koribo ta ami.

Rabindranath Tagore

(This poem is dedicated to my sister, who, despite her handicap and humble living, was the sole caretaker of our father in his ailing age.)

in the twilight hour

when the sky wore the deep sapphire blue

to bid farewell to the sinking sun

the sun whispered, “who will now hold the light?”

the world stood mute,

then the lampposts one by one

sprinkled their faint amber glow

brightening the city’s lonely alleys

inside one of the humble abodes,

dim and quiet

lay her father in deep repose,

a fragile structure of the past

yet for her, an ancient,

rooted tree, and she a tender vine,

despite her slow rhythm of destiny

wrapped strength around

his slowing life

she creaked the window open

to let the fresh air breathe in

into the still room

and saw the lampposts

standing guard to hold the light

through their thin, dark pole,

bringing color and glow

in the desolate cityscape

she looked inside her apartment

cloaked in loneliness

where silence was broken

by the raspy, shallow sound of

her father’s breath – she smiled

yes, she was the one

holding the light in her frail hands –

a flicker against her father’s gathering dusk.

Note: Tagore poem:

Who will take up my work?" asked the evening sun.

Hearing this, the world remained silent. A clay lamp said,

"My Lord, I shall fulfill this duty to the best of my ability.”

Dr. Meenakshi Mohan (USA) is an internationally published writer, scholar, art critic, children's writer, painter, and poet. She is on the editorial Committee for Inquiry in Education, a peer-reviewed journal published by National Louis University, Chicago, Illinois. She is an Advisory Editor for Confluence, UK. Meenakshi received the Setu and Panorama International Awards for Excellence in Literature. Her book, Symphonies of Life, won the Sudesh Kamra Memorial Award for the best debut poetry book at the Bhasha and Beyond Literary Festival, Pune. Meenakshi lives in the USA.

Setu, December 2025

The thread that spans the years: Veda, Me, and the Ocean

Veda's Conversation with the Ocean no sig

Meenakshi Mohan

I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream

Van Gogh

I grew up in the suburbs of Kolkata, where the balcony of our house faced the Hooghly River, just a few miles from the ocean, and the sound of the waves echoed up to our balcony. As a child, I could spend hours watching the waves, going in both directions – sometimes racing to mingle with the sea, and at times retreating like a restless child. I loved the sound of the water. It was there, on that edge of tide and imagination, that I learned to weave my stories on the canvas of the water, and then to bring them to my easel.

Years later, my life’s currents carried me far from that river to the United States. But my love of those songs the waves sang stayed with me throughout. When my granddaughter, Veda, came into our lives, we made several trips to Maine – my daughter and son-in-law’s vacation home, where the Penobscot Bay stretched out just beyond their yard.

It was there that my childhood dreams began to play out again. Veda and I would sit together, watching the waves and listening to their whispers and rumbles, captivated by the morning sky painting the ocean in an ethereal blend of apricot, rose, and purple. We would walk the beaches. I will hold on to her tiny hand in mine. There, we would collect treasured shells and stones. It was as if I were reliving my deep connection to water.

Meenakshi Mohan

Earlier this year, when she was traveling back to Maine with her parents, I requested, “Veda, please tell the ocean that I miss its songs, its stories, and its many hues.”

The message I received back was priceless. My daughter sent me a black-and-white photograph of Veda standing before the vast water, delivering the message, “Ocean, Ocean, my grandmother told me a tale for you.”

And when she returned, she presented her offerings to me – a small collection of shells and stones – the physical proof that the thread between us, and thread to the sea, remains unbroken.

My painting, in which I captured Veda standing small and steadfast against the vast backdrop of the ocean, is not merely a portrait; it is an attempt to capture that exact, profound moment – the silent transfer of a generational love for the water.

Setu, November 2025

Special Edition: Meenakshi Mohan

Meenakshi Mohan

The cosmic vision

But you cannot see Me with these eyes of yours, therefore, I give you divine eyes with which to behold my mystical opulence.

Bhagwat Gita 11.8

(In memory of my mother. I often wondered if the Trimurti bestowed upon her the vision to witness the mystic opulence of the dawn and dusk of her life, which she accepted with her serene persona towards the end.)

as she lay on her bed, she gazed out her window

at the cerulean, starless sky,

only a burning orb through the veils of ragged,

smoky clouds like a cyclops' luminous gaze

peered down at her to make her journey

peaceful to the other end of the cosmos.

she was peaceful and calm

her breath slow, hanging on a fragile thread

I wondered if her deep spirituality gave her this strength

while the leaves of the diary next to her night table

softly fluttered in the fan’s gentle current

whispering her words.

when my end comes

I want to thank thee by kneeling before you

on the altar of the cloud, for giving me space

in the world you created –

childhood newly sprouted, fresh and full of promises,

youth with its brilliance, a reservoir of love and patience

motherhood with profound joy and connection

and my silver year, a serene, illuminating sunset,

oh! The Architect of my life

when I close my eyes

wet my lips with the heavenly elixir

and guide me to your promised land

as the clock struck twelve, midnight on January 7^th, 2005

with Hey Prabhu, she closed her eyes

only a soft splatter of rain on the windowpane

played a sermon under the heavenly light.

Setu, October 2025

Art & Poetry: Meenakshi Mohan

Meenakshi Mohan

Frozen in Time

(Seeking answers from Seurat)

My painting, oil on canvas, and my poem Frozen in Time are inspired by Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. The print I used was a close-up shot, blurry, undefined, and vague. I used my imagination to fill the gaps in my painting. I realized that the blend of colors in his dots was meaningful when seen from a distance. I was fascinated by the optical illusions his painting created.

How can the drops of water know themselves to be a river

Zen Saying

why did people on your canvas

creating a human mosaic

on a Sunday’s golden glory

at the beach of the Seine River

seem distant, detached

each one like an island

a silent tableau

what secrets did these tiny dots represent

on earth’s vast canvas

each soul a solitary islet – silent, isolated

no clasping hands, no shared embrace

yet, woven together, they created the whole.

what did the silent journey of the Seine whisper

beneath the ever-rolling sun

did it speak of the transience of life

fleeting days and folding and unfolding of destinies

yet, your Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte

has crossed centuries

and your people stayed frozen in time

and found their endless realm.

Frozen in Time, painting by
Meenakshi Mohan

Dr. Meenakshi Mohan (USA) is an internationally published writer, scholar, art critic, children's writer, painter, and poet. She is on the editorial Committee for Inquiry in Education, a peer-reviewed journal published by National Louis University, Chicago, Illinois. She is an Advisory Editor for Confluence, UK. Meenakshi received the Setu and Panorama International Awards for Excellence in Literature. My book, Symphonies of Life, won the Sudesh Kamra Memorial Award for the best debut poetry book at the Bhasha and Beyond Literary Festival, Pune. Meenakshi is the Chairperson for the Global Nexus Program of The Writers' Capital Foundation. Meenakshi lives in the USA.

Setu, July 2025

Meenakshi Mohan (Diaspora Dual Identities)

Meenakshi Mohan

A diasporic hair elegy

Aah, I still miss my long tresses

braided in one long flowing cascade.

but in my early twenties

I was drawn to the allure of American hues --

short, curly bobbed hair.

My sister advised me to get them short and permed,

she took me to the Ann Arbor Campus, a laboratory

where interns learn to be cosmetologists

and being new on the American land

on a scholarship’s small bounty

anything worked to save money.

Two-three students started maneuvering over my head

an intern chopped off my hair to shoulder length,

holding a long-amputated strand of hair,

she asked if I wanted to save it,

their experiments with rollers, chemicals, and

variety of combs took an eternity.

Sitting like a statue on their experimental stool

I had to endure their trial and error

when the whole project was finally finished

I couldn’t recognize myself in the mirror

it was not me, I thought.

My hair felt like spiked rolled wire

and stood around me like a halo, I remembered,

my nine-month-old daughter refused to come to me

and the least remains to be said about my husband --

who used to love my long hair locks.

I painted myself in the colors of America,

but is that what I wanted?

my tresses, a symbol of my heritage, were gone

and I missed them.

An Indian child’s dilemma

(a dialogue between a mother and her five-year-old daughter)

She came home crying

threw her lunch box

and flopped on a chair.

What happened, child, Mother implored.

Why did you name me Akshara? Everyone makes fun of my name,

why can’t I be Olivia, Cathy, or Charlotte,

her face wrinkled in displeasure.

Do you know the meaning of Akshara?

Akshara is the name of the goddess Saraswati –

symbol of knowledge. It means you are bright and brilliant.

Why my skin is dark olive, and my hair ebony,

it is not fair that they have cream-colored skin

and short, fluffy hair, Akshara scowled

Your long hair and slaty skin make you unique and

what makes you beautiful of who you are inside

your kindness, your smartness, and your creativity,

Mother said with a peck on her cheek.

A rainbow has so many different colors –

all beautiful in their unique ways

you are one of the beautiful colors of the rainbow –

you have a special sparkle that makes you shine,

be proud of who you are,

and I love you the way you are, Mother said with a smile.

Akshara, with a broad grin, deepening her dimpled cheek,

hugged her mother, I love you, Mumma, the most in the world.

and my love for you is beyond words, her mother responded.

the thread of the mother-daughter bond was woven

into an unbreakable cord.

An unwritten letter to my mother

(on my departure to the USA as a young bride)

The ache for home lives in all of us

Maya Angelou

Ma, when the plane was piercing the heart of the sky

I looked out. I was leaving you, my home

then I looked out through its oval window,

a full moon smiled, clouds like your soft cuddles floated by,

and I knew I took a piece of you – the moon and clouds with me.

America -- in a new land,

my heart ached for you,

but when I saw the moon peeking through my window

streaming through the latticed leaves,

I thought you were with me.

I sent you messages with the moon,

knowing they reached you,

my heart felt peace,

your silent words echoed in me,

and I knew you were near me.

Did you know

I slept with your blue foreign letters

with stamps of India under my pillow

and your words were you,

you stayed with me all night.

When I opened my puja book

your hand-written shlokas

felt like your blessings

and I could feel you were praying for me

in front of the mandir in our home.

You were not there with me

but I felt your presence around me,

you were in the recipes I cook

when I made mistakes – it seemed

you smiled and said, it is okay, you are learning.

When I opened the folds of the saris you gave me

your sweet fragrance soaked me with a comforting wave

you were there in my churi tree

I imagined you looking in the mirror

looking for matching bangles to wear.

The moon and the clouds, the letters, the tree --

the life unfolded, many chapters added

and you found your abode with the stars

but the old moon stayed the witness, Ma

I carried every essence of your love with each breath.

Meenakshi Mohan, an academic, art critic, children's writer, painter, and poet, is a widely published writer. She is on the Editorial Team for Inquiry in Education, a journal published by National Louis University, Chicago, Illinois, and an Advisory Editor for The Confluence UK. Meenakshi received the International Panoramic Award for Writing in 2021. and an Award of Excellence for Literature and Art from Setu Bilingual Journal, Published in Pittsburgh, USA, 2022. In addition, she received the Literoma Laureate Lifetime Achievement Award in 2024. She was recently elected as Chairperson of the Global Nexus Initiative, introduced by the International Writers Capital Foundation. Meenakshi lives in Maryland, USA.

Setu, April 2025

His heart ached -- if only

Meenakshi Mohan

his heart ached

he felt claustrophobic, constricted, choked

tears streaked down his cheeks; at midnight, he was still

steering the wheels of his taxi

through the suffocating

labyrinth of glass and steel and through

the sheer density of the compressed crowded roads

where sirens groan, the earth moans

here in this city of gasoline and sweat, where the earth shakes

with the subway’s thunderous sound –

is this the city of the joy of gold and glitter

where he craved to come?

his heart ached

ah! what he left behind the star-studded sky

where the family slept under its canopy

he and his sisters would play the games of counting stars

the greenery and meadow and where he could spend time

with his friends playing kabbadi and gulli danda

where they would race with the clouds

and chase after the kites in kite fighting.

where the family is together, eats meals,

laughs, and chats -- he missed his mother’s roti/saag.

his heart ached

he remembered his father, his hope

and struggle for him to get him educated well

so he could get the best out of life.

he remembered how he used all his savings

and taking a loan to send him to the country

to the land of opportunities, alas! all his education,

his parent’s dream, his sister’s pride

now wasted across this distant land

where he makes two ends meet

on his meager salary and shares

a one-room apartment with three others.

his heart ached

for his mother’s tender love, but he was imprisoned

in this glorious coffin of towering glass and chrome

where no birds fly, the moon and sun

find it hard to pierce these massive structures.

his heart ached

tears could not soothe his torn and wounded soul

he was imprisoned in this cage.

his heart ached -- if only….

Note:

Gulli danda, Kabbadi – games played in India

Roti/saag – Indian bread and a spinach dish

Special Edition: The Dying City :: Setu, November 2024

The earth melodies: Zephyr

Meenakshi Mohan

Swish swash

I heard the waves from my window

a gentle zephyr tousled my hair

it brought a symphony of the ocean’s hues.

Enchanted

I watched the ocean and sky all wrapped

in cerulean, blue in the quiet of the night

only the ripples of the waves

resonating the rhapsodies of love.

The welkin from far above

draped in sapphire hues

enraptured by the ocean’s grace

crossed its threshold to kiss the ocean’s edge.

The ocean rose drenched in the elixir of love,

wrapped the sky in depths of blue

was this the divine cotilion of

Zeus and Amphitrite veiled by the hills

a heavenly sight.

Along the shore, the pebbled beach

as a jealous lover parched and desolate

waited still – longing for a kiss

while a delicate air most sweet

carried forth the melody to the waiting shore.

The mystery and beauty ionized the cosmos

with an ode of its own – electric and pure

until the dawn breaks, embers expire

leaving only echoes of a fading choir.

The Threshhold by Meenakshi Mohan
Oil on canvas 40X30

Setu, October 2024

Symphonies of Life by Meenakshi Mohan

Symphonies of Life by Meenakshi Mohan

Publisher: Penprints Publication

Publication year: 2024

Pages: 158

Price: ₹ 400 INR / $ 35 USD

ISBN: 978-819679325-8

-Reviewed by Margaret Blake

Many people talk of life as a journey, travelled from beginning to end. For Meenakshi Mohan, however, life is far more fluid than that. This collection of poems considers life as being full of musical movement, sounding richly in each life and throughout communities. Just as each symphony is full of pianissimo and fortissimo, lows and highs, so these all run throughout her poetry, combining to make a harmonious whole. Her skilful use of language is combined with lyrical imagery as she moves us from the personal to the universal. Birth and death, joy and sorrow, loss and fulfilment make up the kaleidoscope of life experienced by all. Her poems skilfully blend the past and present, the concrete and the abstract, blurring the boundary between private and public life. Her writings invite us to reflect on who we are as individuals, to reflect on where we have come from, and to consider where our destination might lie.

Meenakshi, whom I have known online for some years, is a writer, poet, artist, and academic. She left her home country of India as a young bride to start a new life in Maryland, USA, with her graduate husband, Kshitij. Together they built a fulfilling life until his premature death in 2010. All her own experiences, and that of others, is fed into her poetry as she draws on mythology, culture, and tradition for her imagery, blending all together with a skilful use of language to portray modern life.

Her capacity to interpret life through the medium of music shines throughout. She sweeps us along on lyrical imagery, such as that found in the poem ‘My Silence Speaks.’ In that reflection, Meenakshi conjures up visions of ‘melodies of leaves, whispers of the breeze, and fluttering songs of butterflies.’ Such interpretations are not, however, restricted to the wonders of nature alone. ‘You are a Scripture Written in Sweet Melody’ is the greeting offered to a new-born child; but one that also draws on meta-physical concepts of ancestry.

Yet there lurks within this poetry also the sound of loud, disturbing notes as cymbals clash and echo throughout an unequal society. Issues such as race, gender, and domestic abuse are bravely tackled and illustrated with strong imagery. Injustice is exposed, not to be tolerated, and in the poem ‘Gandhi, A Legend’ his spirit calling for ‘peace, harmony, and unity on the earth’ points the way forward to a better future.

The redeeming power of love features throughout this book. The poet weaves the theme through poems of family, of injustice, estrangement, and bereavement. Yet her writing also stretches beyond our everyday life and into philosophical speculation. Poems such as ‘What Color is my Neuron?’ and ‘God is the Color of Water’ remind us that we humans do not own all knowledge; imagination can have a powerful role to play in our lives. These are delightful poems that sweep us into the music of the stratosphere.

Meenakshi Mohan is a woman who firmly believes that the symphony of life continues even after the moment of death. Loss is real. Grief revealed. Yet there is hope, a peacefulness in acknowledging the eternal flow. Estrangement from our homeland is no more, as we see in ‘A Journey Home.’

‘I was there – When the Ganges came rushing,
piercing the hearts of the snow-clad Himalayas
enshrouding my ashes in its bosom.
The misty eyes of the seraph-like clouds watched
the serenade of streams and the chanting of the ancient priest. A long-lost child was finally home.’

As Meenakshi’s Symphony draws to a close, the various cadences are brought together in the words of ‘The Journey’s End.’

‘I watched
the evening sun slowly moving Westward mellowed, leaving behind
its candescent glory
in the bleeding heart of the Elysium
soon to be enveloped in the bosom of the earth. It was the day’s end!

…. Is this the journey’s end
or the beginning of another life?’

Symphonies of Life is a book that can resonate with all.

Reviewer’s bio: Margaret Blake writes both poetry and prose; her work has appeared in several anthologies: online and in print. She has co-edited e-zines for the Aspiring Writers Society (AWS) and the anthology: Seasons of Change. Reflecting Today, Dreaming Tomorrow. (Authorpress 2024)

Setu, October 2024

Special Edition: Meenakshi Mohan

Meenakshi Mohan

The Giving Tree: Two Perspectives

(Based on Shell Silverstein’s Book, The Giving Tree)

Scenario One: His Story

The rain had stopped.

He walked to the window with his cane, slumped,

and looked out -- a stump of a tree glistened

buffed with the last night’s rain.

The stump sat alone in the midst of the lush, green

vibrancy of the fruit trees around it.

He wondered if he was like that stump --

once mighty, leafy, loaded with fruits,

family and friends swirled around him

like bees around beehives.

Today, bereft of his branches, leaves, and fruits,

he is alone in his bare minimum abode --

a silent witness to life’s desolate blow.

He looked at his wall –

beautiful memories of yesteryears

peeked through the frames.

He sat down on his rocking chair

gingerly placing the cane next to him,

a weary spirit lost and lone –

life dragged on in an encumbrance shackle.

He thought of the beautiful life he had,

and took a deep breath and sighed.

Shell Silverstein sighed

from his pages of the Giving Tree.

***

Scenario two: Her Story

The rain had stopped.

She walked to the window

and opened it to get some air.

A fresh whip of cool breeze tousled her silver hair.

She looked out at the fresh vibrancy of nature --

trees dancing in the wind,

colorful flowers blossoming,

rainbow-colored butterflies hovering around.

An apple tree stump

sat alone from the lush plants and foliage.

It glistened with last night’s rain and

sparked its beauty like an ancient sculpture.

As she meditatively admired nature's beauty, freshness, and liveliness,

she heard a knock on the door. She opened the door, and

a little visitor stood there with a plate,

“My mother baked some fresh cookies today. She has sent some for you.”

She smiled and thanked him.

The little boy, who frequently visited her, requested,

“Could you please read me the story from one of your children’s books?”

“Yes, of course, please come in,” she chirped.

They had chocolate milk and cookies while she read the book.

After the story, he wanted to know about the pictures on the wall.

She told him about her parents, childhood, husband, children, and grandchildren.

Before he left, he politely asked, “May I come back again to listen to another story?” She nodded, “Yes,” with a smile.

This little visitor was like a breath of fresh air.

She walked to the window again.

The stump of the Apple tree was no longer lonely.

Neighborhood children were sitting on top of it,

playing games. Some had decorated the edges of the stump with flowers.

She thought she would take her granddaughter there to play.

She smiled at Shel Silverstein’s book, The Giving Tree.

Shel Silverstein winked a naughty smile through its pages.

Setu, August 2024

कविताएँ: मीनाक्षी मोहन

मीनाक्षी मोहन

पर उन यादों का क्या जो नहीं छोड़ पाये

कितने सूर्यास्त और सूर्योदय बीत गये

कहानी कितनी आगे निकल गयी

पर उन यादों का क्या जो नहीं छोड़ पाये —

आज बरसों पुरानी पापा-अम्मी की चिट्ठियाँ

भारत का स्टैंप, नीले रंग का –

कुछ हिदायतों, कुछ रेसिपीस कुछ तुम लोग कब आओगे से भरा

एक कसक सी दे गया, काश वो दिन लौटा पाते।

हमारा वह छोटा सा हुगली नदी के किनारे बसा शहर

जो फ़ैक्टरी की धड़कन से चलता था

जहाँ पाँच बजे सुबह के भोंपू से हम जागते थे

और दिन की दिनचर्या शुरू होती थी।

हाथ में किताब दबा सहेलियों के साथ गपशप कर स्कूल जाना,

घर आकर खेलना, सहेलियों से रूठना, मनाना,

कभी इमली पेड़ों से तोड़ कर नमक मिर्च से खाना,

कभी काग़ज़ की नावों की रेस,

जीतने की ख़ुशी तो हारने पर रोना।

अपनी बालकनी से आते जाते

जहाज़ी यात्रियों का हाथ हिला-हिलाकर

अभिनंदन कर हम कितने खुश होते थे,

सोचते थे कैसी होगी उनकी जहाज़ी ज़िंदगी,

क्या होगी उनकी कहानी?

वो बड़ा सा बरगद का पेड़

जो एक चबूतरे के सीने को चीरता खड़ा था

उस पर भूत प्रेत बस्ते थे शायद, कभी सड़कों पर

डायन के उल्टे पैरों के निशान भी नज़र आते थे --

उन कहानियों में एक डर था, जानने कि उत्सुकता भी।

उस शहर में सब एक दूसरे को जानते थे,

होली, दीवाली, दुर्गा पूजा, जन्माष्टमी

सब एक साथ मनाते,

जन्माष्टमी में झांकियाँ देखने घर घर जाना,

फिर गुजिया, बालूशाहियों का तो मज़ा ही और था।

ऐसा था मेरा शहर जहाँ बचपन की कितनी यादें हैं

जिसकी महक आज भी रग रग में बसी है,

ना हमारे पास सेल फ़ोन था, ना ही टीवी

पर उस सीधी साधी ज़िंदगी में भी हम ख़ुश थे।

काश अपने जीवन की ये कहानी हम फिर जी पाते!

बहुत याद आता है वो अपना बचपना।

पर उन यादों का क्या जो नहीं छोड़ पाये

जिनकी ख़ुशबू आज भी रग-रग में बसी है।

***

विधि का विधान

इन्द्रधनुषी किरणें

बादलों की लुका छुपी

में भी मुस्कुराती रहीं

ओस की बूंदें भी गुलाब की पंखुड़ी

से झांक कर उन रंगीनी किरणों के हार

से अपने को सजाती रहीं

फिर आँधी के एक झोंके ने

सब कुछ मिटा दिया

और मैं अपनी खिड़की से विधि का

विधान देखती रही!

***

(1)

सूरज की पहली किरण से रंगी

गुलाब की पंखुड़ी ने ओस की बूँद से कहा

मैं प्यासी मेरी प्यास बुझा दो

ओस कुछ झिझकी फिर मुस्कुराई

पर मैं तुम तक पहचूँ कैसे

तुम तो तितलियों की रंगीन

ओढ़नी से ढकी हो!

(2)

कहने को तो बहुत कुछ था

पर कह नहीं पाये

उनको तो सिर्फ़ अपनी ही सुननी थी!

***

डॉ. मीनाक्षी मोहन एक लेखिका, कवयित्री और कलाकार हैं।

वह व्यापक रूप से प्रकाशित हुई है। उनकी सबसे हालिया किताबें द रीबर्थ ऑफ द डेमन और टेपेस्ट्री ऑफ वीमेन इन इंडियन माइथोलॉजी हैं। वे नेशनल लुइस यूनिवर्सिटी, शिकागो की सहकर्मी-समीक्षित पत्रिका, सम्पादकीय बोर्ड में हैं। वह कॉन्फ्लुएंस, यूके की सलाहकार संपादक में से एक हैं। मीनाक्षी को सेतु द्विभाषी जर्नल अवार्ड ऑफ एक्सीलेंस और पैनोरमा इंटरनेशनल राइटर्स कैपिटल फाउंडेशन अवार्ड मिला है। उन्हें हाल ही में लिटरोमा लॉरिएट लाइफटाइम अचीवमेंट अवॉर्ड भी मिला। मीनाक्षी अमेरिका में रहती हैं।

सेतु, जून 2024

A bit of heaven: Meenakshi Mohan

Meenakshi Mohan

In the nascent hours of the morning

when the sun is still blanketed in its orange-purple glory,

sprinkling some of its hues on the blossoms below,

I walk to my little oasis – a sanctum where I find peace –

a bit of Heaven

Sitting on my swing under the awnings of the crepe myrtle trees,

loaded with white and pink blooms.

I inhale the freshness of the morning wafts of air –

soft and gentle caressing me.

It seems like the little angel sitting in one corner on the stone ledge,

comes through the silvery night and brush strokes

flowers and bushes in various colors –

roses in pink and yellow, violets with purplish hues, and

tucks in ruby red Azalea in the folds of the leafy bowers.

Spellbound, I listen to the symphonies of –

cardinals, goldfinches, robins, and sparrows -

regular visitors to the birdbath.

With fascination, I watch the dance of butterflies in their vibrant outfits.

Bushes, flowers, and rocks around the garden glisten with sprinkles

of the water fountain. I imbibe the elixir around me

and drown in the silent, musical harmony of

Veena Vadini, the divine power adorning my bit of heaven.

The ageless, tall birch trees surrounding the area

with their wrinkled, peeling shells, like preachers

remind of the transience of life –

yes, the season changes, and so does life,

but I close my eyes where magic sleeps

and wraps me in the spell of the moment,

and in my bit of heaven

I live.

***

Bio: Dr. Meenakshi Mohan is an academic writer, poet, and artist. Her recent books are The Rebirth of the Demon and Tapestry of Women in Indian Mythology. Her poetry book, Symphonies of Life, is in process with the publisher. Meenakshi is on the Editorial Board of Inquiry in Education, a peer-reviewed journal of National Louis University, Chicago. Meenakshi lives in the USA.

Setu, June 2024

Meenakshi Mohan (Women and Spring)

Meenakshi Mohan

My Granddaughter’s Fairy Garden

(for Veda)

It is spring again. The earth is like

a child that knows poems by heart.

Rainer Maria Rilke

At the nascent hours of the morning

when the sky was colored

with a blaze of apricot, peach and tangerine,

I heard a knock at my glass window

“cheer, cheer, cheer”

Indolently, I opened my eyes.

A red cardinal sat perched on my windowsill.

Outside, a bunch of pink cherry blossoms

rhythmically moved to reach my window.

Then, a knock at my door

Ammu, Happy Holi!

My four-year-old granddaughter entered my room.

Her voice was music to my ears.

She jumped into my bed

and snuggled under my blanket.

She told me about her dreams of the last night

of fairies from her fairy garden playing Holi with colors.

Ah! What an excellent way to start the morning!

Later in the afternoon,

she and I went to her Fairy Garden.

I exclaimed, Ah, no fairies here.

Shh! They are sleeping now

and came only at night to spread all the colors, she said.

But where are the colors? I asked.

Don’t you see? She said, whirling around on the flagstone patio,

pointing to the vibrant colored flowers –

rainbow-colored pancies, red-pink azaleas, yellow daffodils

creeping phlox covering the hedges in purple, blue, and pink,

many varieties of perennials spreading colors and sweet fragrances.

The fairies came and poured colors on the flowers, she said.

I smiled at her imaginary fancy tales.

We sat on the stone bench next to her fairy house,

where her fairies were taking their siesta.

The butterflies hovered around from flower to flower.

Naughty squirrels chased each other,

and grey-orangish robins splashed around in the birdbath

while my granddaughter weaved story after story.

But for me, her fairy garden, her chitter-chatter

were so salubrious and refreshing

that I wanted to live in the moment.

Images of my childhood flashed through my mind --

collecting yellow-white mogra flowers with my grandmother,

interlacing them to make garlands,

and sharing with her my imaginative stories,

while she listened intently.

How time flickered by so quickly,

leaving the footprints of sweet memories.

I wondered, many years from now,

would my four-year-old granddaughter remember

these innocent, beautiful moments

of a spring morning?

Bio: Dr. Meenakshi Mohan is an educator, art critic, children's writer, painter, and poet. She taught at universities in Chicago, Boston, and Towson, Maryland. She is a widely published writer in both academic and creative areas. She is on the Editorial Team for Inquiry in Education, a journal published by National Louis University, Chicago, Illinois. Meenakshi received the International Panoramic Award for Writing in 2021. and an Award of Excellence for Literature and Art from Setu Bilingual Journal, Published in Pittsburgh, USA, 2022. In addition, she received the Literoma Laureate Lifetime Achievement Award in 2024. Meenakshi lives in Maryland, USA.

Setu, March 2024

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