Journeys Ahead: Kolkata Calling

What pull draws one, firmly, unwillingly, and yet relentlessly, to the place of one's birth? What primal heart beat, of a land, a place, beats resonantly with yours, following your meandering footsteps, a constant reminder of where the journey was first begun? As a distant flying arrow, constant always to origin, your source? Such is the draw of Kolkata, the place where I was born, the place that I'll again return, soon, to ground myself, to anchor within - to move out again, in ever widening spheres, away from this source. Maybe it is its grime, that's soiled my blood, its noises and music that have permeated my silences, its turbid, turgid, humid air, that has breathed into my pores- maybe the world I see has been suffused by its washes of soft, tarnished gold, of sun distilled through its intense, tropical jungle heat....

There is a mood to Kolkata, a flavor, a feel, a sense of self, uniquely its own - a once rushing crystal river, flows broad and brown here, languorously moving towards the sea; spilling shelves of books overflow into streets, pass through many hands and are still read; hand pulled rickety rickshaw rides over cobbled streets, pulled by young, gaunt men already bent and old; street foods of intense sweet and spice, that defy all boundaries of palate and taste; minuscule helpings of steaming tea served in earthen pots, to be thrown aside and crunched under soles, neatly disposed; the gigantic Howrah bridge; temples with black naked goddess wearing garlands of red - flowers, blood...all this is Kolkata in my breath, my blood.

Journeys Ahead: Goa Beckons

It is with a bated sense that I am getting ready for another interlude with Goa - once again a dark, blue, limpid, monsoon Goa. Images float in my head, memories of the past visit, a love affair, short, brief, tantalising, full of promises to return. Through the year, I have carried this Goa, as a secret lover, hidden, luring, adding color to my days, a vastness in my heart. The vastness of infinite skies poised close, almost touching, achingly to a needy lashing ocean, whipping its passions to frothy silver, reaching , breaking over a wet, rain drenched land of gold and grey...small polka dots drawn painstakingly on sands with chiffon border, drawn and redrawn with every rush of rain, every breath of monsoon winds, ups and downs of swollen tides, and broodingly witnessed by the dark, swaying, sentinel palms. The sound of this loving, and yielding, fills the world. The desire of the skies to bear down and join this game of land and water, crackles with frustration, roars with anger...and all this plays a turmoil on my awakened heart - my lone footsteps weave between water and sand, marking and quickly disappearing, as this vanishing moment of love and life.

Chengara Land Struggle Story

Is this an unfortunate, grievous repetition - an aberration by the country's Left? or are the so called People's parties now setting up a new fad of prostituting ideologies, philosophies, changing sides from representing the injured, down trodden, to sucking up those injuring? selling rights of the weak majority for the favor from the privileged few? Again the CPI(M) govt. , in Kerela this time, is choosing a clash course with tribals in Chengera by reversing promises made for land.....however, I got this story at Mutiny which carries it in fuller detail here- and then following up other video documentaries links in Youtube.

Staring Out of my Window on a Wet Evening...

Suspended stillness
of my silent days,
amidst
clamoring clutter
of world's relentless,
restless ways.

Rain Flowers

Today I was swimming laps in a cold, turquoise pool, under a dense overcast sky. All of a sudden, on every surfacing, I saw the pool layered with tiny miniscule white flowers; within minutes the flowers were large, burrowed deeply into the turquoise depths, and covered the entire blue surface in fragile, foamy, frothy shapes that lived and died within my each surfacing for breath. Existing for only a tiny, transitory moment of awareness of magic-the world chorused a song to this drama, loudly permeating even my underwater world. Laps were forgotten, my body twisted and floated on its back-now I was also water and the flowers that rained from heaven also burst forth on me-star shaped, magical, white, air flowers, grew over all of me.

Admiring India Together

It is hard to describe the great satisfaction I get from reading alternative journalism presented by the 'India Together' team. It is relevant, interesting, appropriate and empowering, unlike the many other genres of written word that pass off as journalism.
Today, the article that caught my eye, made my heart skip a beat, experience a ray of hope, was on Ganesh Mallya, a part time farmer, who was able to convert, with time and persistence, his bit of dry, barren land, into a veritable jungle of food, and trees. Read more about this amazing real life story, here.

Sculpting

Working creatively with one's hands, producing something real, physical, holdable, is a joy that I am discovering rather late in my life...hence fruits of such labor, more sweet. It also has me in deep awe, appreciation of the labourer, skilled worker, crafts person - an appreciation I missed out in my previous avatar as a computer junkie.

I remember the first time I was conscious of this desire-to sculpt- more than fifteen years ago. To knock out shapes, forms, of curves and lines, chipping away bit-by-bit with a chisel and a hammer, having a block turn into a form, expression, of my inside, on a rock, wood, substance-anything hammerable. I was sure that kneading, working with soft, mushy clay was not my style; I was not going to pursuade matter into form, poetry of expression; I wished for the hard hitting prying out of a soul that would otherwise not be released.

Today my son's insistence "Do what your heart desires" had me pull out this block of wood that I had been saving, bring out my saw, hammer, chisels, polishing rock...joy-o-joy I was about to begin.

I was almost defeated at the very first step of saw-ing out a block of required size-it was the first time I was holding a saw, let alone attempting to seriously use it. It was hard work, my wrist, and upper arm hurt-I couldn't believe that what I was used to seeing carpenters doing with ease was this very difficult for me. I resorted to a combination of using saw and chisel to cut through the block-finally-all of 4x4x12 inches-a midget for the grandeur of my imagination! Yet, Rome was not built in a day, and I reigned in my wild enthusiasm...ready to proceed.

Now, I felt, I was ready for the fun part...get a shape out-I chose on a fairly basic shape-a woman's head and started...within minutes I had already learnt more than I ever would have by reading a book! First, keep that damn chisel away from vital body parts!! Second, a wandering mind, does not a happy sculptor make-a couple of whacks on my own hand very quickly got my attention focussed! Then slowly I discovered technical aspects, wood will cut lengthwise or rather along grain lines-this is something that I ought to have remembered-Griffith crack propagation, works here as elsewhere, effectively, beautifully. I discovered ways of getting clean lines-at least, cleaner than before lines...avoid raggedy edges.

I have spent all my free time working happily on this bock of wood. At the end of the day, I am filled with joy, glee-I have the beginnings of a face-and as I happily boasted to my indulgent husband- there is no reason that my first work should not be - a work of art! That said, nursing my truly sore hand and shoulder, I am ready for bed.

Individual, Social Growth

It appears that organization of societies fall in two broad categories. One, the actions of individuals are governed, primarily, by the well being of all, or the larger common good. In the other, individual actions focus towards the betterment of self, and expressions of individual freedom. The former category broadly describes a classic oriental model, where historically, civilizations and societies of east, flourished without particular individual influences -where social movements forward in arts and sciences were a progression of social evolution under benign monarchies during times of peace. Thus, some of the outstanding examples in early Indian arts and architecture are symphonies of orchestrated effort, where individual artistry although recognisable, is subsidiary to the movement of the piece as a whole.

Diametrically opposed to this was the occidental model. In Renaissance- an individual was born, created , shone brilliantly, and by his light, illuminated a great social movement forward in arts, sciences, literary and philosophical thought. Great masters lived, ruled, swayed entire societies, becoming heroes, inspirations to generations yet waiting to be born. These masters too were nurtured by discerning patrons who supported their lifestyles and liberties required to evolve as artists.

Within the current homogenised and globalised world, market trends govern growth-individual or social; more accurately, certain aspects of profitable, profiteering growth. Are these pertinent to either individual or social movement forward? in terms of basic rights to life, liberty, pursuits of happiness? for all?

Some cud for me to chew on....

Megh Swirling Inside

Yesterday afternoon the drama started unexpectedly-after an uniform gray and dull morning, at the siesta hour, the skies suddenly darkened to a heavy blue-black; within minutes, thunder roared, lightening sliced, electrified, water gushed through a torn universe, pelting, pouring, flooding; silver streams curtained my view outside, watery world with watery sounds, gutters overflowing in waves of melted earth; I lay watching in stillness, melting; the unquiet outside, now stirring inside-a dancer, a dervish stood up and pirouetted within my ordinary exterior, in swirls of silver, white, happy in a secretive abandon within the dark blue of Megh- now inside.