Great Floods

Great floods have occurred in the past

No one talks of who triggered it

But we know right from Noah

Who were the saviours

Gods can’t seem to do much

In the drowning world

Where drowned ones

Wait for that one physical and real

Hand to manifest

The hand of the saviours

To pull them out of the debris

To live to tell the tale

Some say it felt like

A great wall of water and sludge

Came towards them

Scenes of apocalypse unfolded

Is the world coming to 

An end? 

We know there are

Profiteers getting richer

By burning the planet

But ice is ice is ice

With a fixed melting point

A completely non-negotiable one

We have watched for a decade or more

Bargains over 1 degrees or two

But idiots never understood

Glaciers will melt

No gods can save us

From nature’s fury

We transcended the boundaries

Taking earth for granted

Like we take our women too

But everything has a breaking point

Yet we refuse to learn

As long as the poor

Or rich tourists die

Does really matter anymore?

Nor do lives on a narrow strip

Which is getting narrower

Nor do high altitude folks

Who are the first victims

And first responders too

Who is to be held accountable?

For uncountable deaths

We will bear witness

Make films, poetry, stories too

We have all documentation tools

To document the horror

Soon we will walk around

With oxygen masks

As cities turn unliveable

While mountains prone to GLOFs

You escape the noise

To seek peace in higher altitude

Only to get buried under a glacier deluge

No one knows where you disappeared

Lucky ones say Shiva or Jesus or Prophet

Or any god of their calling saved them

No one asks why gods are so selective?

They never punish the perpetrators

They go after the poorest of poor

Trapped in bare minimum cycles of survival

On a larger scale we are in an era

Which might get defined in retrospect

An era hooked to screens

Watching their own collapse

And mountains turning into rivers

Minute by minute

Waiting for saviours

To manifest to save them

From themselves

As we sink into the deluge and debris

Of our own making

When will we learn to act?

Isn’t it too late already?

Betrayals

Time betrays

People betray

Family betrays

Life betrays

You betray yourself too

The true story

Isn’t the words said

The true story

Is never what is seen

It lies in what stays

Unsaid and unnoticed

And in life unlived!!

What betrays silence

Is the word

& what betrays the words

Is the silence

Between said and unsaid

There is a pause

A void so dense

Yet so empty

Bereft of trust and emotions

A Closure

I am not sure

What is A Closure?

Which everyone looks for?

Is it a signalling to end a phase of life?

Does life have such demarcations?

Before and after phases

Before school, after school,

Before marriage, after divorce?

After birth and before death

That’s the lifetime we get

We keep dividing into moments

Phases of growing up, coming of age

Falling in and out of love

Getting married, becoming a parent

Then the lonesome empty-nester

We keep drawing lines

Or adding chapters to our lives

While erasing the past which keeps

Receding faster, Doppler shifting away

Memories fade but hurt remains

We can’t get over traumas

Yet we call it PTSD

From the moment of birth to death

It’s just a few odd years

When we scale it

To the age of the Earth or the universe

We can’t even predict 

Where the grim reaper awaits us

When we will close our eyes

The curtains will fall

And the drama will end

The drama of our life

That will be the true closure

Two dates in the bracket

Will define our lifetime

And of course

The perspectives of people

Who loved to love us

And who loved to hate us

While we were caught up

In their ideas of love and hate

The drama was never ours

We were mere characters in

Lives and dramas of others

Time does strange funny things

Somewhere in the future

One might get resurrected

In some random conversations

In another drama of not our making

A dead bright leaf also gets

A chance at immortality

When someone clicks a photo

Or paints it or turns it ornamental

In the Camus Universe

Existence has no purpose or meaning

And here we are purposefully

Decimenting and reducing each other

To almost nothing

Or whatever suits us

Then we seek a closure

Closure from hurt

Only to begin again

Another drama

Hoping for forevers

Which doesn’t exist

Soon I will be gone

And so will you be

We will be either villains or heroes

In shape, perspectives and

Narrative shifting world

How about seeking a fresh start

Maybe begin again

So where were we?

Yes…A closure…

Going Solo

It didn’t take long

To go solo

Be it movies

Or restaurants

Or museums

Or a bookstore

Or treks

I don’t even remember

When it began

Perhaps during my college

My long solo commute?

Every daily commuter

Is always alone

Though almost crushed

In a crowded train or bus

There is a constant

Inner talk with self

About a thing

Or millions of things

Or just an empty mind

Too fatigued to think

You don’t need people

When you grow up

So rugged

And then of course

There are betrayals

Of trust and time

Then there was beautiful phase

When my newborn boy

Became my extension

I was never alone

I was his constant

For that tiny life

I had brought forth

Into this chaotic world

I was never alone

Kids never let you be

Unless you play along

So often it would

Be the library or bookstore  visits

Where I would sit solo

In line of sight of my boy

Far far away in the kids section

I don’t remember

Who exactly was I

Training to be alone ?

After the boy grew up

And flew off far far away

I made up my mind

To be the solitary reaper

Of my abandoned pursuits

I unearthed my buried self

In place of a girl in 20’s

Out came a woman in her 50’s

More calmer, confident and wiser

Much slower too

How I wish I could reach out

To that girl and tell her to go solo

The world abandons you anyways

Women are supposed to play

A second fiddle in everything

Wish I could spare her from

All the traumas and dilemmas

And of course all the tears

My dark circles are rightfully earned

But here I am in my 50’s

Carrying that abandoned

Spirit of my 20’s

I know it feels absurd

To those who never tried

(Or didn’t have to)

To stand up for oneself

And live for a while

Remember?

We have abandoned our earth too

Who moves solo in the dark space

And then there is the final solo act

When we depart solo!!

Kafkaesque II

Kafka wrote about it

Long before

World turned into

This dystopia that

Pre-dates Orwellian one

Was human condition

Predisposed to be

Such a nightmare?

Making up rules

In the favour of power

At the cost of powerless

Cohen famously sang too

“Everyone knows dice is loaded

And the fight is fixed

The good guys lose

Poor stay poor, and the rich get rich

That’s how it goes”

What kind of a matrix is this?

How do we escape

This labyrinth of our own making ?

We are the predators

We are the preys 

Perhaps, human condition

Cannot be redeemed

Even though

Christ has been crucified

Wars have been lost

Upon which religions were built

We are spiralling

Nobody knows

But yet everyone knows

Trials are punishment

You never get a sentence

For what you didn’t do.

But you were charged guilty

And given a Sisyphean task

Of proving your innocence

A lifetime is spent in seeking

Justice and freedom 

Validation and acceptance!!

An Ode to A Photographer

Photography is a rare art

Playing with omnipresent

Light and Time 

Capturing moments

That transpire magically

Just like a sudden flight of a bird

Or deep pensive prayer of a saint

Or something unsettling

Or maybe deeply political

Just like a dying child staring

At an approaching vulture

These are moments of truth

That transcends Time

A photograph rarely lies

Unless of course it is doctored

To peddle a lie

Ever since it’s invention

There have been warriors

Going to the ends and the depth

To capture beauty and horror

Their gaze becomes

The gaze of the masses

That’s the magic

They turn you

Into them

The gaze changes places

You become the onlooker

Your silence becomes complicity

Life of a photographer

Isn’t an easy one

Trudging with the gears

They make the unseen

And unknown visible

They unravel the truth

That hides in the plain sight

Leaving us to wonder

How did we allow this to happen?

Are we going to do something?

Photographs have changed

The world history

But photographers carry

The burden of Sisyphus

They must push the boulders

And the borders again and again

They must teach

The blind populace to see 

And behold the truth

And not turn a blind eye 

Again and again

Photographers have turned 

Cosmetic over ages

They just indulge in beauty

Safety and narcissism of it

Yet there came along

A rare tall one

With a discerning eye

And deep wisdom

Who could stop the world

With one single photograph

Using simple Light and Time

To paint the undeniable Truth

An ace visual storyteller

Holding the mirror to the world

Leaving for the future

Stories that are imprinted

By light on the frames of Time

And memory forever!!

PS: In remembrance of legendary Raghu Rai who passed on to another realm today

Brain Fog

Best words and lines

And the flow of thoughts, ideas

Come to me while

I am walking or teaching

Or while doing some unrelated chores

And then they disappear

Brain fog I guess

Should I guilt trip myself

For not writing them down?

Or maybe a pardon is in order?

After all brain fog isn’t my fault

And it isn’t the brain’s fault either

We keep constantly overloading it

With information, emotions and sentiments

Evoked by hundreds of visuals

And narratives unfolding

Everywhere all at once

One moment we are infuriated

And next moment we laugh

We cry for a bit too

And then we are confused

Most of the time

I guess the brain too gives up on us

Thinking fast, thinking slow

Long term or short term

Cognition and metacognition

How much can it label and segregate?

Neurons too must be overworked

With all the firing and messaging

I try to remember that string of thoughts

Something that got completely lost

While I went on a scavenger hunt

Looking for war, elections and other news

Doomscrolling

I don’t remember knowing these words

During my growing up years

Brainfog, doomscrolling…

Oh wait…what was I planning

To write about?

Ufff I lost the string of thoughts again

Wonder how James Joyce and other

Stream of consciousness writers

Would have fared in this era?

Will there be a new genre?

A genre of brain fogged writings?

For writers who lose their

Stream of consciousness?

Success

Success is a mirage

A beautiful illusion

That everyone chases

It is intangible

But yet always measured

In tangible terms

Of money or assets

Or fame or infamy

Success is a strange mirage

It doesn’t guarantee

Happiness, peace or safety

Yet it is one of the most

Powerful driving forces

Driven strongly by

By the societal constructs

Or cultural norms 

World’s most famous

Writers, poets, singers and artists

Who died dirt poor as failures

Are often remembered

Oxymoronically

As successful failures or vice versa

Success is a strange mirage

A milestone some never aspire to reach

Yet they remain successful

By defying all norms and constructs!!

As Tears Go By

Marianne you sang

“As Tears Go By”

At a very tender age

And then life happened

Men took you for granted

They were seen as Bohemians

But you were labelled a slut

You went down the rabbit hole

Found yourself living on the streets

One has to hit the bottom low

To reverse the curve

Which you did brilliantly

And with much grace

You didn’t hate the men

You chose to rise above them

They sought popularity

You took refuge in literature and poetry

You forged your own solo path

And gave the world its own

Cold war anthem

“Broken English”

A complete arch of life

Beating all odds

Seeking depth and beauty

Amidst all the darkness

Your voice changed too

But your singing didn’t

The world denied you awards

Time and again

But you never cared

Life has to be lived

After all for life’s sake

Not for the sake of

Judgement and validation

Validation from whom?

And for why?

People will discover

Your “Seven Deadly Sins” 

Which actually saved you!!

Oh! Marianne…

As life goes by…

Your words ring so true!!

Image courtesy: Album cover of Broken English