Wednesday, 28 April 2010
Goa of the sea
for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
Goa of the beaches
In every outthrust headland, in every curving beach, in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth.
And more beaches
where everyone has to be!
Goa of the sunsets
A beautiful sunset that was mistaken for a dawn.
Goa of the Churches
and their equally ancient companions, the beautiful rain trees.
Goa of the old houses
waiting to be torn down and rebuilt as grotesque multi-coloured, perhaps 'neo-Mediterranean' styled, high rise apartments.
Goa of the rivers and the green hills beyond
and a constant to and fro of barges carrying iron ore.
Goa of the Banyan tree
To study a banyan tree, you not only must know its main stem in its own soil, but you must trace the growth of its greatness in the further soil. Only then can you know the true nature of its vitality.
Interestingly, Tagore was comparing Indian civilization to the banyan tree. With every square foot of land being mined for money, I wonder how many banyan trees are being planted now. And what does that say about the 'vitality' of our civilization.
Goa of the birds
There is nothing in which the birds differ more from man than the way in which they can build and yet leave a landscape as it was before.
Monday, 26 April 2010
Thursday, 22 April 2010
And eating some more
But at the first caw of the crow, or the first beep of the car horn, the mothers are back and the chattering, shaking of wings and general running around commences again. Till it’s finally time for bed.
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Now the cows were worried. They had had wide ranging discussions with the hens, the banyan tree, her, the toads, the slugs; well everyone. They had trekked all the way to talk to the polar bears, the giant sequoias, the blue whale, even tracked down the last of the tigers, the elusive yeti; in short they had been really thorough and very professional. But now they were simply worried. And they needed to think hard.
For, you see in this world, to offer an opinion about anything, even something that impacts you personally or you are responsible for, you have to take position under narrow, iron-clad categories created by men. And then it is decided whether you are with ‘us’ or with ‘them’.
No one quite understands whom this ‘them’ and ‘us’ refers to, but then the cows in the many discussions mentioned above realized that humans aren’t very rational after all. And the issue why only such irrational beings get to decide what is good for the Earth did also come up, but then that was another matter. Right now what the cows were worried about was these iron clad categories.
What they had to say was very important. But who’d pay attention if they didn’t file it under some category. However, they also understood that the moment they did so, the ‘us’ and the ‘them’, whoever they might be, would get into a fight and what they had to say would die even before it saw the light of day.
Ordinarily, fitting things into neat categories was something they’d associate with simple minds, unable to comprehend the complexities of life. But it was rumored that humans had the biggest brain, at least that’s how humans claimed they knew what was best for the earth. It was all getting too fretful and worrisome. And at any moment the sun too would set.
All of a sudden the cows had an ‘eureka’ moment. They looked at each other and offered a celebratory moo. And recollected the famous words, ‘We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.’
Rejecting all the old categories, they created a new category. And now they wait for the discussions to begin.
Monday, 12 April 2010
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
And so we begin our search. We are looking for the ‘other Paris’. Not the kind that Carol yearned for in the story called ‘The Other Paris’ by Mavis Gallant. Quite on the contrary we begin looking for Paris that is far removed from all its association with romance and literature and art. In fact, the Paris that exists after every layer of imagery bestowed by imagination, artistic or otherwise, is exfoliated.