Awakening...

In the primordial darkness

Of the ancient Mother's womb

Something stirred: vestiges of Consciousness,

Burst into thousand-petaled 

lotuses,

A light pierced through the pall of clouds,

Revealing shards of a shimmering

rainbow,

The  ocean gurgled and laughed its

deep cerulean laugh,

Imparting a sudden vision of the

twelve-hooded serpent.

Distant winds toppled over boughs and fronds,

Inundating with unexpected waves

of joy,

The luminous soul of the circling universe.

Once again, the aeonic wheel was set in motion,

The third eye blinked and midway closed,

A supine smile spread across the azure space

Lighting with its bliss everything in its widening wake.

Life awoke to the dream of Reality:

Tangibly palpable, chaotically

beautiful:

Spreading its wings, it fluttered and flitted,

And broke into a sudden trajectory of infinitudes, 

Beyond the oppressive ticking of the clocks

Beyond the compressing confines of the walls

Beyond the servility of all the dos and don'ts

It emerged into the vast, untinted freedom of a new day. 

To breathe, to love, to be...

Coconuts in the Time of Corona

I don't intend to either romanticize or criticize the lockdown. For,  besides limiting our daily Constitutional to the residential complex we live in,  sporting a mask, and having a smaller variety of veggies and fruits, we have coped with it, as we would, with any other day. Moreover, we are fortunate to be where we are, for it is a low-density area, with zero cases of Covid-19. We have more trees than you can count, and more birds, snakes, toads, chameleons, living inside our houses than people.

 

Where we live, you look out from the terrace, and for as far as your eye can see, there is nothing but coconut groves, with trees leaning at a precarious angle from the deadly hurricane of 2011. Interspersed with coconuts, is the sprawl  of cashew trees: short and sturdy, and oppressively green.

Nowadays, despite the lockdown, the coconut harvesting is in full swing, and our otherwise quiet neighborhood has suddenly woken up to the slow rumbling of tractors, hauling golden color coconuts, ready to assuage our summer thirst.

Vinesh Kumar, the gardener's grandson, saunters off on some lazy afternoons, armed with a few of these survival fruits, a menacing sickle, and a sweet smile. The offer is irresistible, a mere ₹25 (40 cents) for sweet coconut water and its whiter than white meat. Vinesh Kumar, with one deft strike of his sickle, pierces the nut, and lo, a fountain of water gushes out. He could very well have been a water diviner. We sit on the porch, leaning on  the cane chairs, thankful for this ambrosia, which is so easily afforded to us, even during the lockdown. After having had our fill of coconut water, we attack  its soft sweet kernel greedily.  It is refreshingly satisfying, this afternoon, pre-siesta indulgence of ours. 

But, I don't intend to  romanticize or criticize the lockdown. I am grateful for the comfort of a home, and its idyllic surroundings, which also help me to sympathize with the homing instincts of the thousands of migrant labourers, headed to their respective villages. With a hungry stomach, swallowing up mile after mile, they trudge on. Yet, how can I even try to step into their shoes, when most of them have been trooping down the hot desolate stretches, barefooted?

Love in the Time of Corona

"Love recognises no barriers."

                             

Our real-life protagonist, Arivazhagan,  a 65-year-old farmhand, from Kumbakonam, Tamil Nadu, India,  recently emerged as the very embodiment of  this famous quote by Maya Angelou.  And today, because of him, in the midst of the Covid-19 saga, with its unstoppable numbers of new positives, and deaths, we have a heartwarming tale, the kind

 that one gets to hear once in a lifetime.

Since the three-week nationwide lockdown beginning March 25th, Arivazhagan had been in a predicament of how he could take his cancer-afflicted wife Manjula for the third session of Chemotherapy to  JIPMER, Pondicherry,  a hospital, some 130 kms away from his village. Even though the appointment was still six days away, he needed to find a solution fast. With the  unavailability of public transport, the only reasonable option was to get a cab. But, Arivazhagan's out-of-work status and meagre savings, did not allow the couple such a luxury.  So, with no other means at his disposal, Arivazhagan did the unthinkable. He decided to make an overnight journey on his gearless, old bicycle, while Manjula sat sideways on the rear carrier. During the odyssey, the couple took just two short breaks, since Manjula found it hard to stay seated for long on the metal carrier.

It took Arivazhagan 18 hours to cover that stretch of 130 kms. He rode through the night, starting on 30th of March, and was on time for the appointment with the oncologist, on the 31st. Along the way, he did get stopped by the police, a few times, but, when he explained to them the urgency of the situation, and produced  Manjula's medical records as  proof,  he was given the permission to carry on with his mission. 

On reaching the hospital, he learnt that the OPD ward had been closed, in order to handle Covid-19 cases of the area. However, on finding out about the couple's amazing ordeal, the administration decided to accomodate Manjula, and proceed with the treatment.

The doctors, and the hospital staff were so impressed by Arivazhagan's unflinching dedication, that they contributed money from their own pockets, so that  an ambulance could be arranged to take the couple home. 

During the lockdown, amid reports of rising domestic violence even amongst the  educated and affluent urbanites, especially in the 'civilised' world,  this  simple farmhand's abiding commitment to his sick wife should make us pause, and reflect not only on the wonders of love, but, on its infinite capacity to empower the individual, turn every impossibility, into a plausible likelihood, and every hurdle, into a risk  worth taking.

'Home' in the Time of Covid-19

The poem below is my overly simplistic take on the plight of the millions of daily wage labourers, who were rendered jobless/homeless overnight, by the  PM's sudden decision to impose a three-week nationwide lockdown, in  an effort to stop  the onslaught of Covid-19 in its tracks.  Even though it was a timely and laudable decision in the right direction, the chaos it created in its wake, encapsulates the amnesia of an administration, which has failed over and over again, to take into consideration this crucial section of our society,  the daily wage labourers, a chunk of whom are migrant workers from other states. Living in the shadow of wretched poverty, they symbolize the backbone of the country, and without their ineffable energy and endurance, we would be dysfunctional as a nation.

One cannot even begin to surmise the harshness of  circumstances which propel these people towards cities to work as low-wage labourers. Yet, the fact that, in the absence of any kind of public or private transport, due to the  lockdown, they chose to walk home, unfazed by  hundreds of  miles which seperated them from their destination, is not only a proof of their courage and determination, but  also highlights the pivotal role home and family play in one's life. 

Let us go,

Through  the screeching silence

Of  abandoned highways,

Swathed in April haze

Desolate and unfriendly,

Like the city we leave behind us.

Let us go,

To our humble houses where

Birds sing, and skies are not 

Ragged and shorn, where

We can joke, and laugh, and 

Share our pain.

Let us go,

Dunno how we will walk these

Endless distances: 

hungry children in our arms:

But, get there, we will:

Somehow... sometime...

Let us go,

Away from this huddled poverty,

Flung across the shadows of 

the skyscrapers, which pierce 

the earth and the skies, and know

no compassion. 

Let us go,

To sleep under the deep blue

Of the starry nights,

And listen to the wind in the fields, 

And to the water lapping

In the pitcher.