THE NEW EARTH

Out peeked a fresh, new Earth. Just born out of the Night's womb. The Earth, blessed now, by the trees and the sky. The holy waters adorning the new born Earth. The Earth today, is going to see things that no Earth before has ever seen! The mother Night, leaves off in search of food for it's new born Earth while the father- Day, greets his offspring, his pride showering his daughter with a mighty golden ray of light! His daughter would change the dark past. The Darkness that had consumed her sisters. But she would change it all. She would see a new day. He would make sure of that! He would not let the Darkness consume her. He would not let him take his daughter away!

The new Earth awoke. She opened her beautiful eyes. She saw her father, her divine face glowing with the light from his pride. Her tender surface is strengthened by his dreams. She smiles at him and gets ready for her journey towards a new world. She brings together the strength of her hope and the dreams of her father- the new Day! She steps into the new day- with new tales to tell.

Nature welcomes the new Earth. New birds and new trees, new brooks and new streams. And nature sings to the new Earth, new songs of hope. The Day watched with joy, his daughter blooming into a woman- he glows his might- and keeps her from harm. The sun shining right on her, the Day preserves his prize. For the new Earth was now a woman, her beauty now seamless- and glowing hot with her father's care. In his cocoon, was her safety. For her beauty, he felt, would lure the Darkness. The Day did not want the Dark to see her. He burned and burned, all day long- keeping away the Dark, the Dark who had taken away his daughters before. What would he say to the Night, his wife? He would not let the Dark near his daughter. He would burn him away- thought Day, the father, in rage.

The Day burned and burned. But there was no sign of the Dark. The father felt his joy- that knew no limits! For he would now have his daughter, with him, forever! His rage now ebbing away, he waited for his wife, the Night. But out of nowhere- came the Dark! Strong and powerful he struck the Day hard. Day, the father- thus taken by the Dark- his blood painted the skies red. In his blood, blushed the new Earth. The Dark was a man, so cold. He spread his cool arms- on the new Earth. The Earth, melted away at his touch. And in a moment, she was his. The Dark consumed her, and hid her away.

Mother Night, returned with the stars. The stars would be her daughter's food. She searched and searched but her daughter was nowhere to be found! She cursed herself for going away. She turned now to the Moon. She pleaded him to help. The Night promised that she would be his, if he helped her find her daughter, the Earth. The Moon agreed, and he shone his brightness upon everything his hands touched. He searched through the night's sorrow, still the Earth was nowhere. And suddenly the moon's hands, touched upon the Darkness, himself!

The helpless night- wailed away her sorrow. Her tears washing away the Earth beneath the darkness!

The Dawn arrived and the new Day pecked on his wife's cheeks. There would be a new Earth, again- he promised her and embraced. And through the Night's tears and the Dawn's hope- Out peeked a fresh, new Earth...

WHAT DID I DO? - "Reposted- Remembering Gujrat-2002"

(This is a Re-post of an earlier post. Posted originally on Sep 21st 2009.)

Dark. The night was as dark as the heart of a murderer. But I felt safe. Mother was beside. Her warmth protected me against just anything. All my anxieties wither away- just one touch of hers, does wonders to me. The quiet night, was only destined to be quiet for a while. But we were not supposed to know yet. I felt the eternal quiet- a night, so calm and peaceful- an assurance brought about due to the sense of another being present beside- one whom you could touch and trust.

I lay lost in thoughts. I couldn’t sleep. I was just too happy. Everybody had been so happy that day. The day I was born. Father said that he had not ever been happier- than the day I was born. I knew he had spoken the truth. His eyes had never lied to me. My mother had probably guessed that I was not sleeping. She had started to pat me… gently. How come mothers know that? I could never understand that.

It had been an unusually quiet night. So quiet, that I could almost hear my own thoughts. I turned in my bed. I could see father. I think that I had got the best father in the whole world. Mother had been complaining since a few days back about “difficult days ahead”. I never understood what she meant by that. But father! He had never complained- about anything. He had always made sure that we were happy. He said- “It’s a man’s shame that his women complain. I would never let my little princess cry”. And he was a man of his words.

There were noises. Distant noises- coming closer- slowly- then rapidly. And all of a sudden- it ceased to be a quiet night. There were cries everywhere. People ailing. Crying out in pain- agony. People angry. People, in rage. In panic, in despair. It was a moment in my life when I felt all the human emotions- simultaneously. What was the cause of this commotion? I wondered.

Suddenly, I felt myself being lifted up by such a force- that I was being pulled back onto the firm ground from the land in my dream. It was mother. I could see her crying. Why was she crying? Father was beside her. The look on his face… What was it? Could that be fear? No. But it was fear. A strange helplessness- despair, had crept into him. I had never seen him like that. He looked at me. I tried to smile. But I couldn’t. I felt that my doubtful, uncertain glance at him had only weakened him. We were running. Like fugitives. Like animals being hunted. But why?

I saw people on the road. Some were holding up torches. The flames from the torches were not as bright as their eyes that shone with mad pleasure. Some of them had swords. Some- knives, spears. They were beating and killing everyone. I could recognize some of the people who were running along with us. Those were the people, who were being killed- tortured. We ran faster and faster. The noise around was unbearable. May be, we were dead. And we were in hell… What else could it be?

Suddenly, I had fallen off my mother’s clutches. And before I could realize what was happening, my mother had ceased to run. In fact, she had ceased to move, talk or cry. She was not… was she? Where is father? I looked around. Some of the men with swords were holding him. I started running towards him. He looked at me, and when he fell down, he was still looking at me. The men with swords were coming closer, towards me. I was not running. I was not crying. They were standing, now, facing me. Judging me. The noise was dying down. I could now see, only their eyes staring into mine. I heard myself say, “What did I do”? And all I could hear was, the echo of silence…

LONE LITTLE BIRD

The dusk was a rage of red

And melted away, was gold

The breeze was a welcome bliss

But in came a cruel cold.

The sun was away for a while

Stars, waiting for the moon

The sky was an empty heart

Oh Night! Be here soon.

Through the gray, gold and red

Fluttered a little lone bird

"Where were his friends"? I wondered

And it seemed, for a moment- he heard.

"What had kept you back?

Why did you wait so long?

Is it for a grain of rice?

Or some poet's sad- bird song?

You flutter as you fight with the breeze

Your wings growing tired as I see

What had kept you back- waiting?

While you watched your friends fly, free?

Fly home safe, little bird

Worry not, for the grain of rice

Your little ones wait for you, back home

Keep them safe from a world of lies.

Return to them, help them live

Return to them, to life

For rice is rice, and song- a song

But life- not something rife"!

He fluttered along- soon, was gone

The sky now dark- an empty space,

I closed my eyes, to feel through the sky

And I found his little wings' pace.

He was home, he was safe

That was all, I needed to know

The night was here- and so was the cold

"Au Revoir, little bird- for now, I must go"...

TOMORROW...

What is that-
that which is tomorrow?

A hope for a new day?
Or a new day of hope?
A change in the making?
Or making new change?

That which is tomorrow-
Is it a blossoming dream?
Or a dream still a dream-
within a mind fast asleep?

Is it a life in progress?
Or a search for a life?
A beginning? An end?
Or a means to them both?

That which is tomorrow-
Is still but- tomorrow;
An uncertain truth
Or a certain untruth

A mirage, nevertheless-
A wonderful sight
It is, but not-
That which is tomorrow...

WOMEN'S EMPOWERMENT?

Today, I heard something about a friend of mine. This was not something I would have wanted to hear about a friend after almost 4 years of no news about her.

Padma was in my class in my 9^th and 10^th std. She had a very good handwriting. She sang very well. She danced Bharatnatyam with such grace! She went to a different school for 11^th and 12^th std. and studied commerce later. After almost three years, I found out that she joined a BPO in Chennai and got married to a guy working in Software Company in Chennai. That was the last I heard of her.

Today, I found out from a common friend that she had given birth to a baby girl recently. I was so happy for her, until I found out that, she was blamed by her in-laws for giving birth to a ‘girl’ child and was sent out of her home! She is not being allowed to meet her husband and neither was this husband of hers doing anything in this matter.

I do not know what is happening to her now, as I don’t have her contact details. But this has been worrying me since the moment I had heard about it.

I feel like confronting her in-laws and her husband this very minute and slap them hard in front of everyone. Her mother-in-law too is a woman and why the hell was her mother not punished for giving birth to her? I always used to think that this was an issue in the rural areas in India- Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, Jharkhand, or Rajasthan. But here? In town? Among the educated? And to think that the guy did B.Tech! Wouldn’t he have the sense to correct his mother or father? Wouldn’t he know that giving birth to a boy or girl is not in anyone’s hand? ‘XX’ or ‘XY’ is a process of science! And there is no person in this world who does not get “Fooled by Randomness”.

I am disgusted.

Whatever is the purpose of having so many Acts for women? Domestic Violence, Sexual Harassment, Trafficking and what not? Celebrating an International Day for women? What purpose do they serve? They are all one big farce! Practically speaking, I have no reason to believe that they have any chance of proving their effectiveness unless the society wakes up to them. This is a social issue. If such an issue is happening somewhere around you, it is your duty to put a stop to it.

Will there not be at least half a dozen reasonable and respectable people living in the same street? Can they not one day visit the house and try to drill some sense into these idiots. I feel that that’s the only practical thing to do. Legal action must be the last resort as it would take 20 years or more and the affected people rarely get justice.

I hope Padma gets this support from her society. Meanwhile, friends of mine who are in touch with her, if you’re reading this, please let me know her details, if you know...

26/11- HISTORY?... NO- NOT YET...

Three years. I think we must stop counting the years. Counting the years is one way of making things ‘history’. An event of the past, something that we have done away with. This, however, is not a thing of the past. It is very much alive. The day may come and go. And one fine day- it may cease to exist. News channels would get tired of reporting about it. There would be no news about the day. It would just be another day of the week. A good day or a bad day. Then finally, it would become history. Washed away with time. Human emotions diluted to words in history books. Like Jalianwalah Bagh or hanging of 172 Indians post the Chauri Chaura incident, which was not even reported.

One fine day, the clock might tick and we would not even realize which day was making it tick. Many years later, may be one day- two old people would sit on the porch and talk about the old times. And even then- this would be an incident that happened. A tiny drop in their ocean of a life. Or may be in future- a child may ask. “Who was Grandpa, Granny? How did he die”? And the Granny may reply- “He was a good man. He was not meant to be dead. But fate had other plans. And one day he was dead”. As simple as that. Why should we corrupt a child’s mind? Let’s blame it on fate. Let’s make things easier for the child. She is the future. Let’s weave a bed of roses for her.

But the bed of roses is not what is life. The reality should never be allowed to be washed away. Three years back, the quiet room echoed with the loud ring tone I had set for myself. It was from home. My mother starting listing off her usual list of do’s and don’ts. The list now included- don’t go to hotels. For a person like me, living away from parents, this sounded strange. She burst out crying all of a sudden. “Gopu no more... Gopu no more...”. I don’t even remember how the news entered into my mind. How was that possible? A terrorist attack killing a member of my family was just absurd! Calls kept coming throughout that evening. Mama’s last words, I was told, were the names of his children. This is not a history or incident that needs to be recorded and reported and be done with. A man’s last words. Last sound of a voice that would soon be muted for ever...

I sometimes think the terrorists understand ‘human life’ better than Government. They know that the damage to life would earn them ‘fear’. People are not numbers on Government’s records. Government would do well to realize that.

I have not come out of this realization that it forces me to rethink and re-realize it over and over again. No matter what the magnitude is, the intensity of the news that flashes on the TV screen can only be felt when the numbers of the casualties on screen cease to remain numbers for you. And no matter whoever you are, whatever you do- for a moment, for a day, forever, you shall feel it happen once again deep down. What is that, that is to be done? Least that can be done- is to keep the lives lost, alive. For the ones who have lost loved ones, they lose them every single day of their lives. This can never be understood by anyone else.

Memories are the most powerful records in the world. It doesn’t just contain numbers. It contains life. Memories must be kept alive. They would guide us. They are the cause for the future. And for this future, let’s leave behind memories, and not history...

Older Articles on this: "Home" Calling... , A Reason, to Cry..., 26/11- The Numbers
Remembering.... P.K. Gopalakrishnan (Maternal uncle)

RAINING TEARS

On the tip of the green

lies a crystal tear

Holding on to the green

As her end comes near.

Up and down

waved the green in rage

On it was the tear

Clutching her edgy cage.

At the Earth's womb

burst a little pod

It longed for a tear

And begged the green to nod

Scared of the Earth

the tear begged not

She wished to be caged

But freedom, she got.

She saw a bloom of life

When on the pod, she fell

Now happily, she rained on

with her tales, she would tell...