Vocal lanes

Rings into my ears every now & then

I feel it on my skin

Listening to something mundane

Her voice turns it into arcane

It appears once unannounced and thence expected

Thrives on atmosphere passionate

Leaves a lasting impression on my mind & body

The music in her voice is such a melody !

Like a bird who sings with no aim

Like a poet who writes for no fame

Like a mother who loves not for a goal

She talks everyday with a pure soul

Hidden beneath the sound are her trials

Concealed from the world are those tears

The silence does what sound cannot

Shining light of a moon when sun doesnot

The meaning of the rhythm, rhyme & punctuations

Is all but perceptions

The love, agony , joy & pain

Expressed summarily by the sound of her vocal lanes

The biology be damned

And the physics be condemned

I listen to her like a starved listener

Her voice that is ethereal, surreal & stellar

I will tread those lanes someday

Listen to the silence & words at hay

Nothing truly matches the sound of her sound

Stealthily I shall be happiness abound.

Absurd

You are an absolute disgrace of a human being! What do you do when you are subjected to such a verbal assault? When mirrors are shown with uneasy regularity, your only defense is to shatter those mirrors. Indrajeet was trying to come to terms with what had just hit him.
                                                   There were certain questions about life that had always irked him, simple matters like love, distance, growing up, conforming etc. Hope or optimism always held things together, hope to effect some change and to feel change, being a beneficiary sometimes and an agent at some. Indrajeet pondered on these ideas as he smoked his first cigarette in many days. Quitting was difficult, more so the tribulations of an adult life. The fundamental need of a civilized human being is Self- Respect. Once you compromise on that then what remains is the shattered mirror. Does it really make sense?
                                 Indrajeet didn't want to sound logical, he was tired of being the quintessential no nonsense method guy, now he wanted to let the shattered pieces of glass from the mirror pick themselves up and form another image, without any external influence, without being subjected to the absurdities of a human life and without a hint of compromise. The glasses as much as he wanted were never going to pick themselves up but he had to. He wished he could either turn back the clock or fast forward it as he wanted to escape the present.
The perpetrators of verbal assault deserved their turn, thought Indrajeet, after all they were the reason why he existed. That made things even more complicated and difficult. So Indrajeet being Indrajeet, tried to either evade the barrage of piercing words or offered pithy replies. None of these gave the desired results and did not make any side any happier. The moot question is this: What's the point of so many words when silence was communicating better, what's the point of defense when premature obituaries had already been written & what's the point of this blog post when nothing was asked of it. You stare into the sky pointlessly, you drink tea pointlessly and so you talk pointlessly and endlessly.
                           Problem is with finding reason, absurdity is the foundation of our existence, thought Indrajeet. That we exist because there exists a higher purpose? Life cannot be oversimplified by these narratives of essentialism. We strive too hard to give our lives a perfect shape, like a flawless spotless linen & in the bargain upset what’s core to our existence. Whatever that was going inside Indrajeet’s brain stopped short of Nihilism as he believed in a higher power but not in any established social or moral order. I need to understand it – he said. He resolved to read Camus, Sartre, Kierkegaard and Nietzsche or may be just Camus because absurdity times four would still be absurdity

The Rural Redemption

Clock struck 6.30, Sun was blazing down and it took me a while to come to terms with the amount of light shining at this time in the morning. This day would mark an epoch at least in our lives if not theirs. I was not sure whether I should be happy or sombre about how the day was going to unfold itself. I still went about the morning business nonetheless, there is certain calmness in such repetitive behavior. My wife made sure that I got the right attire keeping in mind the sun and sweat she foresaw. A quick dash to the mirror to fix the hairy issues on my head and I was ready to go. So were my friends who had travelled miles to pick me up en route.

All of us, now seated in the comforts of a car were now worrying about the optimum route, how not to miss the right turns, coordinating such minutiae to appease our corporate trained brains, giving us a misplaced sense of security and confidence. Multiple miles later we reached the village. We were now joined by a scooter borne man to help us navigate through the maze to reach the location where they had fixed the water storage tank.

The tank was sitting pretty and white among the teeming lot of enthusiastic locals who were pleased with the arrival of a new member in their families. No two groups showed the same emotion to us. The young were amused, the elderly visibly grateful, the ladies smiling effervescently greeting us with the customary tilak and coconut. The camera men were kept on their toes, they had probably clicked so many pictures that mere chronological arrangement would make it look like a video. Village heads were happy and shy, they knew it was not enough and a tad too late. Speeches and notes of gratitude were showered generously. They called the entire ceremony ' Satkar', something they would do to honor dignitaries. We probably didn't deserve any of these, but it would have been a social faux pas to completely ignore and override their sentiments. All of us were happy to go through the motions. It still hadn't sunk in, what we had set out to achieve.

An elderly man, aged 70, moved us with his emotional eruption. He grabbed his knees gesturing the long distances that were cut short by our big-small endeavor. I call it small because indeed it was a proverbial drop in the ocean and big because it had big impact on their already impoverished lives. Even though I don't follow Marathi, my eyes were moist, may be communication crossed the language barrier just then. I wanted to hug him but ended up putting my arms around his shoulder under the garb of shooting pictures. It helped to alleviate the seriousness. It was not the moment for that. Water tap was open and the sound of water meeting the vessels filled our ears like music does. Old man was now missing from the scene, I was told by my friends that he almost broke up conversing with them. I wish he hadn't.

There were four such water storage tanks placed intelligently between the talukas so that the benefits were equally distributed. The Satkar program was performed religiously 4 times during our 4 hour stay at the village. We didn't mind their over indulgence. It offered a peek a boo into their genuine hearts. Our moral consciousness touched a different plane altogether feeling inadequate to offer anything in return.

Now there were food and drinks, ready to be served in traditional manner. I am not particularly a fan of eating at dining tables, so I relished it even more today because squatting on legs wasn't such a bad idea after standing under the relentless sun. Masvadi & Bhakri, made delicious by their noble hearts, gentle hands, genuine affection and supreme hospitality. I over ate, partly because they kept insisting and partly because the food was too good to be sacrificed at the altar of urban sophistication. I wanted to gift some money to the cooks who were working tirelessly in a makeshift hut, but decided against it as I was not sure if it could hurt their sensibilities. Now I have mentally accounted for that money to be spent only towards a noble cause.

After one final round of ceremonies where they tied Safa on my head, I thought I should speak up. May be the tying act of an enthusiastic villager shook my mental cords. The conversationist in me spoke things I had never thought I would speak to an audience who were all ears nevertheless. My message was no different to what they had been hearing all day. I somehow managed to speak a couple of sentences about value of education and water preservation in the context of modern times. I hope they live better. I don't know why they should suffer at all and I surely don't know how long would it all continue, but I know for sure that it was a day well spent, in the company of poor people with rich hearts.

The Water Tank

No Water for Old Men

Safa Selfie

Bhakri & Masvadi