Was it Spring?

 She sent me a picture of a bud. A bud of a flower. It was spring. Life sprang from the cold, dry earth in her garden one cold morning in Kyiv.

Nature leapt to life. Oblivious to the bombs, missiles falling from the sky. Oblivious to the gunfire, the Molotov cocktails raining down. Oblivious to death.

I saw the picture. I showed him and he knew what I felt. Others wouldn't understand. It was nothing but a pixelated, low resolution picture of a flower pushing its way through the soil. Hoping to grow. Hoping to live. Not knowing it might probably burn.
For me, however, it transported me back to sunny afternoons spent gardening with her in Kyiv. I felt the dry air, smelt the freshly dug up soil, heard the swallows fly above.
Sowing seeds. Tomatoes, aubergines, nasturtiums, geraniums. The promise of life.

A year flew by. The air was dry again. The tulips flowered. The swallows came again. It was spring. But Kyiv burned under the swallows flight. I wonder if the swallows noticed the empty streets. I wonder if they noticed the difference in sounds. Cries of terror instead of delight. Death instead of life. I wonder, did they notice they flew alongside missiles?

Chasing Liberty

 She closed her eyes yet again. Hoping that the dark that shielded the eyes would act as a shield and shut out the voices coming through the door. She pressed them shut tight. Tighter. A bit more. That was the best she could do. It changed nothing. The voices continued. Got louder. Voices raised. Things crashing menacingly on the floor. This went on for a while; and then ….. Silence. Dead silence. She opened her eye. Just the one. A little. And waited. . Body stiffened under her covers. Breath caught somewhere between the lungs. As if she was half terrified that if she opened them both, the clanging and the yelling would start again. But, nothing. That was wrapped up quickly than usual, she thought. She heard her mom open the door and peep in. She knew that it was her mom from her scent that drafted in through the crack in the door and the simple logic that her dad didn’t bother much with the worry that the ruckus he created would wake up his children in the adjacent room.

24 years. 24 years she had lived like this. And her mom, 26. Sometimes things got a little better, but most of times, they got a lot worse.

Her mom is a doctor. So was her dad. Her mom is a mom. Her dad could never be one. He was the one who made sure he was the only one who earned with the hope of buying their love.

She wondered many a times what it meant to live in a patriarchal society. She was too tiny to realise that she was living in a family that was the embodiment of male chauvinism. An ideal example, if you will. Quite a realistic, contempory and pathetic example. She would realise, of course. But to break through the phase where your dad is your hero even though he scares the beegeeses out of you and to discover the reality takes a little growing up to do.

You shouldn’t work. Who cares if you earn!? I am earning enough for all of us. Take care of the children instead. Our son needs you. You should quit your practice and stay with him the whole day while I earn the big bucks. Why do you talk to everyone and joke around them? You always laugh when you are with other men. Let’s buy a huge house and then crib and blame you for the loan I have taken. Let’s also pile on to that by blaming you for not being able to help me redeem the loan (since here, I can conveniently forget I that I am the reason you don’t earn to begin with)…

Words that made the heart bleed. You don’t forget them so easily. Probably never. Stories like these leave traces behind. Like a scar that didn’t heal the way it should cause it was neglected. Like a bad hip that aches in the winter and reminds you of an old injury that you try hard to bury and forget. But it’s always there. Somewhere. Deep within you.

These words played a great part in moulding her into what she is today and making choices that were radically different from what society would expect a woman to make. Ironically enough, the patronising words gave her wings of courage to change things. On her terms. To give a life to her mom that she deserved. To fight for what she wanted. For the way she believed a woman should live.

SO one day, instead of trying to shut her eyes tight, she opened them. Wide. As wide as they could possibly open and stared hard at reality. At what was happening. At the injustice. At the unwarranted and unreasonable chauvinist subset of a society she lived in. Stared at her father. Into his eyes. For a long time. Until her whole life and in retrospect her mom’s life flashed before her eyes.

And then, she left. Took her mom, took her dog and left. Shutting the door behind her.

She had no money, no job that paid enough to feed three mouths. No society that would support this choice of leaving the father’s and the husband’s house.

But she wasn’t looking for approval. She wasn’t expecting any support. She wasn’t hoping for acceptance. She was in pursuit of happiness. Chasing after justice and hoping to give her mom and herself a life of respect and equality. Where the women in the house are free. To do what they want. To eat what they want. To work where they want. To talk as much as they want. To say what they feel. To cry. To laugh! To laugh out loud! Loudly. Louder! Until all the memories of the yelling and clanging were drowned by the maniacal laughter. To be buried under piles and piles and piles of the jokes that would be told and memories that would be created in a world where they would be respected, acknowledged and loved for what they are and want to be.

The first night in their tiny, new flat was commemorated by unbelievably delicious chocolate that she had been saving for a special occasion. Little did she know that it would end up giving her a taste of freedom and peace.

I'M NO DIFFERENT

On a day like no other
He arrived,He was born
A child as normal
as Harry or Tom

The village thought,
He was a miracle
They carved him out of stone
And called him god

Why put a halo on my head
When I am no different

Now its been a century
Since the legend was born
People still worship him
Not knowing what his story was

A blind across their sight
They follow a myth in unison
Anyone even a shade different
Is castaway and imprisoned

Why put a halo on my head
When I am no different

A Song About Things..

Like the touch of the warm sun in the chill

Like the sound of a new learned word

Like the smile that reaches out through the tears

Like curling up next to you after a long day

Like the breeze that cools off the trails of sweat

Like the nostalgia on seeing a familiar street

Like the first ever dance in the cold cold rain

Like soaking tired feet in the fresh waters of a lake

Like finding comfort in the dark and the quiet

Like the rock hard trust found in a child’s eyes

Like singing about the small things or nothing at all

Like finding the last words to finish a song.....

Claustrophobic

Routine invasions into my zone

Inflate the magnitude of rage

Frowns, growls, threats, all expendable

To thwart the prowler on my turf

So with wax I trace shadow lines around me
Shooting up a web of lasers
They surround me
Protect me
From intrusion

Gasping for air
I fail to find
I fail to find
Claustrophobic!

A wide open sky shimmers over me
Solace in my own space
I raise my arms to finally breathe deep

Itching, burning, threatening
My lasers burn deep through my skin
Menacing, hostile
Warning me to abide by my rules

Gasping for air
I fail to find
Still painfully
Claustrophobic!

Coiling in wards
a foetus I grow back into
Pushing through
Nudging through
Wriggling to make space
Elbowing my own creation


A box of illusionary lines
We choose live in
We choose to create
we choose to nurture

We choose to be claustrophobic.

The Last Twenty Steps Of Fire

While Tibet fights for its Independence from the Chinese Government, two teenagers, ages 17 and 19 burnt themselves as a sign of protest against the Chinese empire. They were, however not the first ones. 49 others have burnt themselves to bring about a revolution. These teenagers, on the martyrs way, took their last 20 steps and collapsed. This is a homage for them. I could not think of any better way to honour them than this. 

All for a cause

All for a fight

All that was needed was a flaming light

Two young souls

Ablaze with passion

Treading on the footsteps of the 49 knights

The fiery brave hearts

On the martyrs way

Crumbled into ashes as they knelt to pray

The last twenty steps of fire

Of hope | of rage | of war | of desire

The last twenty steps of fire

To freedom from chains | chains of the empire

Homage to the messengers of the revolution

We salute your protest against the constitution

An alter, where the sacred fire would burn

A reminder to believe that the fates could turn

Your sacrifice reflects the Pure Divine

You are our messiah, You are our Superhuman.

Time Capsule

It was like unearthing a very old, wonderfully preserved, Time Capsule. A kaleidoscope of mental images, endowed with all the colours, the sounds. Detailed. As if a broken down movie strip from a very old, but frequently watched, movie. Broken bits of conversations, laughter over a long forgotten joke. Every further step inside, made my breath stop even more as memories started to breath life into me. Everywhere i looked, it felt like a Talisman to my journey from being a child, to not being one anymore.

That’s where I fell once; and everybody laughed. This is where he threw me in the water during our 1st holi! This was where I saw my first set of falling stars when i stared at the sky during a black-out. That’s exactly where i hid as a child of 10 years of age. I thought that was such a brilliant place to hide! That tree, it wasn’t there before. I don’t remember hiding behind it. But it looks huge. Looks comfortably settled in the soil. But it cant be that old. It can’t have grown so fast. It hasn’t been so long since I moved.

Has it?

Eight years. It had been eight years since I visited this place. I did frequent it, but never like this. Today was different. Today was like revisiting my years as a child. The times of adolescence. The time of my life that i remember the most. Today was like re-winding the movie and living through it again. Not as a 10 year old kid, but with the 10 year old girl. Alongside her. Watching her, as her shadow.

“Lets meet at the Star”. A phrase, so familiar, that it made my insides disappear. A bunch of words that i would only associate with us. Four friends decide to re-unite after almost a decade. At a space that was the most familiar to them. At the place where they all grew up. Together. They fought, they danced, they cried, they laughed, they played. The Star.

I was unnerved. What would I talk about after 8 years?

But we spoke. Spoke until the time ran out and exceeded. Until our childhood came back to life. We re-lived it. Together again, like when we were kids. Nothing had changed. Nothing metaphysically, at least. Conversations were in exhaustive. Its funny how the past kept us talking. We needed to, i guess. I did.

It was like finding closure. Wonderful, warm closure. With them, with myself, with The Star, to whom I never really said good-bye in a way that it deserved.

Music in Nature

There’s something about an empty house; creepy and peaceful at the same time. With nothing for company but a ticking clock. In the absolute apparent Silence comes a Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock… and gradually builds itself to form a rhythm, a beat: Music.

What do you look for in Music? A certain beat, rhythm, sound, pitch. Harmony. A melody that seduces your senses. That lingers on for long after it goes out.

Sitting next to a bank of a river, in the heart of a lush forest, can bring alive your senses just the way Music would. Why is it, you wonder? Listen closely. You are encircled by a melodious tune. Its all around you. You are its epicenter.

The wind gushing by, doesn’t it make a sound?

Yes, it certainly does. Its whooooosh is like a hum of some long forgotten song.

The cascade’s clatter on the river, intimately rhymes with the crash of a cymbal.

While the wild pitter-patter of the Rain, just fills up the surroundings with its jingle.

The Double Bass Drum borrows its thud from a galloping horses’ hooves.

And the chirping bird adds on to the tunes of a Flute.

Music! Music everywhere! We bow to thee, O Nature! The Chief Creator of Music. Using nothing but the Natural Elements, You compose a melody like none before. A harmonious union of everything in your disposition.

And now, you are back home. Back to your routine. Your schedule. That has integrated so well in your life, that your daily environment seems like Nature. The melodiously enticing forest voyage comes to an end. Now what? Did the song end at the border of the woods?

Listen closely, again. Heighten your senses. Awaken them. Make them sensitive to Music. In whichever form it may be.

A train passing by; its reverberation does it feel parallel to a Tabla tune?

Its whistle, even more so, merges with the notes of a Flute.

The rotating of a fan, helps create a pitch oh so unique!

While the oscillation of a wall clock fashions a striking background beat.

Music again! Rediscovered! In our natural environment. While Nature composes the tunes, so do the surroundings we live in. The sphere that encircles us, resonates with delicious melody. We just need to lend a ear to it. Capture it. Recognize it.

But what if you were alone in a silent room? Would the music die down? Music, does it reverberate only on the exterior? Stay. Feel. Hear.

Against your ribs, your heart thumps,

What does it sound like, a rhythmic beat on a drum?

Listen to the inhaling and exhaling pace

The tempo is established for the song to find its race.

Music is around you, if you care to listen. Its in you, you are its focal. Its origin. Its creator. The grand orchestra that fires up dies down only when you do. The Music never stops. Not unless it has an audience.

Space.

Space. Changes everything.

We discuss largely about Time. Give it the importance it deserves. Knowing that it slips away as we breathe. But what we forget to talk about, is Space; to ponder upon its importance. To give it its rightful pedestal that it begs for. We tend to take it for granted to an extent that seldom do we even consider it.

The only time we realize its gigantic value and the impact it had on us is when we find ourselves in a deep Vacuum. A vacuum so intense and void that no other space could ever refill it. A dry vacuum that was moments ago moist with memories that were created through this Space, from the fragments of Lives that were birthed from this Space. A Space that changed the course of our Lives, that inspired us, that brought out the best of us. A Space that made us feel emotions that no other Space, however sophisticated or fancy may it be, could even come close to replicating.

Time plants the gems, but Space nourishes them; polishes them; situates them-Space gives them a significance. A significance that is in direct relation to the Space, and to only THAT space. Nothing could change it, nothing could replace it.

Now here we are. With everything seemingly in the place it should be. Nothing seems to have changed, except the Space. With so much Time in our hands, and so many replacements already charted out, we still feel lost. We still find it impossible to breathe in this horrible vacuum. We strive to make a Home out of this new found hostile void.

Space. It indeed changes everything.

The Flight

She watched it in a state of admiration. Transfixed, she registered its every move as it flit across the wide open sky. An almost negligible, yet distinguishable black shape; a phenomena not very much out of the ordinary, that, in the moment, moulded into something of great magnitude.

A scenery of green mingled with grey dashed past her, but her eyes never left the blue canvas tinged with black.

And then all of a sudden, she lost sight of the bird. Craning her neck, she frisked the horizon, but it had become one with the blue infinity...... Its funny how anything bordering on ‘depth’ is tagged with the colour Blue. BLUE!! The infinite sky, the deep blue sea.. Blue..!!

Blue.. The word lingered in her mind for what seemed like an eternity. She loved Blue. Always had, since the time she could remember. Amongst an assortment of shades, Blue always stood out loud. Never did she understand why though. Why so much affinity to this colour in particular? But now, as she fondly gaped at the clear blue sky, she found the answer reflected in her dark eyes.

The train came to an abrupt halt. She was jolted out of her reverie and in her uncomfortable state of inertia she spotted it again. There it was! Or was it a different one? But then again, would it matter? It would still mean the same. The reason for which she raked the skies for a glimpse of a bird wouldn’t change. The reason they fascinated her wouldn’t either.

The same way, that Blue would never cease to seduce her. The expansive Blue and the Unconstrained Bird! Together, to her, they spelled out Freedom. Yes, that’s what it was. Total, Infinite, Freedom!

Liberty. Something that finds its place as an abstract concept in black and white; That is fantasised by most, but probably conquered by none. What we are really left with, at the end of the day, is a moist, realistic illusion.

<< We are all just Prisoners here, of our own device >> quotes a great song. And it puzzlingly makes her think of Sisyphus. Probably the only character she knew, who came to terms with his jailed, chained Destiny; who tore open all the layers of Illusion to glare hard at Reality; to understand it, to accept it, to embrace it and to live with it.

Even a bird is stalked by predators. The blue sky without exception is drained of its colour every night and is sucked into annihilation. We are all restrained by our everyday schedules in a seemingly free world. We all dream, but hardly do we ever achieve.

And for some absurd reason, that’s reassuring. Beneath the underlying order that we create, there lies Chaos. Chaos, that if once disengaged, would be insurmountable. Chaos in direct relation to the realisation of Total Freedom.

She shivered as she imagined what it would be like if the concept of Total Freedom actually took shape in the real world. The mayhem that would fall upon, would undoubtedly lead to Apocalypse.

Illusions are good, she thought to herself. Not everyone can deal with Reality. Not everyone is Sisyphus.