Reflections

About the Book

Reflections, the collection of poems, written by Amrita ( Jatinder K. Singh) is a memoir of feelings born in presence of nature in its raw state, in her jungle home, where a human hand hadn't disturbed a speck. Branches swung, when wind whirled through, but Herculean trees always stood guard to the sanctuary. The stream and its flow presented moods of life, which were serene in winter's chill, but mighty in monsoon's thrash. Constant closeness with creatures under the brush started to lift the veil of mist. Their unique appearances couldn't hide the oneness underneath. The flowering vines clung to the trees like a garland around a bridegroom's neck. Amrita envisioned her love to look as handsome as the trees. She keenly sharpened her sense of hearing in order to hear the gallop of a white horse, and she wondered if he had already arrived and just needed to be found. Her young heart floated with white clouds looking for him, and later she writes: I often hear my heart cry. To unearth reflections past, Pools of tears try. Expectation, love's misfortune, Doesn't leave a speck dry. To be in proximity of thee, I may just become the sky. The friendship with animals and flora of the jungle, where Amrita lived, was unconditional. No one asked for anything and nothing was given. The exchange of warmth and mute understanding prevailed at all times. She didn't hesitate wishing in her heart: I ask not for moments many As stars in the fold of sky. Warmth, tiny as a blink Suffices, ask my fervid sigh. If another life sprouts perchance, I surely will abide by. A village road was under construction nearby and Amrita feared presence of more people, who may pass this direction. A tractor and a couple of trucks were seen in the area. A dread of encroachment filled her heart and she was restless. One evening the unthinkable happened, when a deer was struck. To this day, she says: A deer in the path, So innocent so alive, Took a jump and a dive. Was it fate, or wrath? Shooting pain of a dart, Of a mishap of long ago, Doesn't soothe, doesn't leave. Is still stuck in my heart. The agonizing pain of this loss lingered in her heart for a long time, until her mother explained that loss in death wasn't any loss at all, but a loss in love is a loss indeed. The following is what she understood: Who says, love runs dry, In death's desert? Sweet memories go awry , In death's desert. It lives in heart's cry, In death's desert. All stays in the eye, In death's desert. Amrita has been away from her childhood home in India for years. University study, a marriage, birth of two sons and a home in America couldn't take the rainbow, the morning mist and the swinging monkeys out of her heart. The prince of her dreams is still awaited for: Grip of emotion is certainly bold. It captures the breath with a mighty hold. Loom of heart weaves dreams immense. In the world of flux, desires permanence. Gusts of past scatter petals and all, Yet at another moment the future stalls. Rejoicing his wait, I string my tear. West winds may bring him, but when not clear. Maturity brings another phase to life. As experience deepens, she turns to desireless state: What structure may we labor for? What wicks to keep aglow? How sturdily to fence the bloom of life? Thus water to make it grow. When death's hammer hammers, How to mend for a gentler blow? Emily Dickinson has been Amrita's beloved poet. There is a loving bond between them. Amrita feels; they both have known nature in a special context. The feeling comes through in Emily's Narrow Fellow: Emily's Narrow Fellow Visited my door. It wasn't upright, it wasn't

About the Author

Happiness is superficial. It is peripheral, and momentary due to its dependence on events and circumstances. Lukewarm feelings evaporate as quickly as they appear without leaving a living imprint for any creativity. Pain on the other hand has depth, thus all creativity emerges from it; may it be music, sculpture, painting, or poetry. Any art form has capacity of allowing one to merge with existence, but it isn't imperative to reach depth through pain and suffering alone. There is another path, that is through silence. Amrita's Reflections come from such a childhood, which was in the midst of a space, where nature was premier. Trees, bees and flowers were her friends. Whispers from them became words and phrases to form expression. Her poetry is born out of an awe of beauty and silence. This awe is full of colors. There isn't just one green in the tree and just one pink in the rose, a rainbow of mellow shades merges, dances and becomes a song. She recognizes the depth of sadness and the fleeting nature of happiness. Over the years the longing grew stronger for that of behind- the- scene presence, which she feels is just a breath away. The tears and sighs aren't for any shape or form but for the love that surrounds us all. Her husband's passing in nineteen-ninety-four deepened the feelings more so. Amrita left India in her teens and came to the University of Nebraska for a master's degree. She married a handsome man of her liking and both attended the school together. Life was busy and charming. After graduation, their two sons were born, and the family moved to Indianapolis, where both worked. Amrita taught school and her husband was a structural engineer. She resides in Indiana at the present.