Why do i write...?


It seems unjustified to be writing about anything but the state of the world at a juncture when it lies embroiled in unprecedented conflict and turmoil.  Wars being waged with the sole objective to paralyze economies and gain control are devoid of ideologies,  principles and therefore duplicity. 'Diplomacy for the sake of diplomacy' has  been extradited from the international arena. And, unscrupulous attitudes epitomizing the age-old euphemism my way or the highway have taken the centre stage.   Ali Khameni, the Supreme leader of Iran is killed along with 42 others of his entourage. There is jubilation on the streets, and there is also a sea of people advancing like a pillar of strength even as they mourn the death of their leader by foreign powers with vested interests.  Claims are being made vis-à-vis the number of war casualties from all fronts. Videos of  U.S. soldiers solemnly carrying the casket of a martyred serviceman are being flashed across the screens to evoke a sense of patriotism, a by-product of every war and an effective way to unite a divided nation.


Therefore, it would be puerile if  my posts begin to reflect my own despair, and  my incompetence in coping with the constantly changing external environment and the turbulent upheavals of the inner tableau. Yet, when one's ears are satiated with the sound of JCBs and electric saws and hammering of old structures and axing of trees in the neighborhood and the television screens are spitting out news, there is nowhere to turn to but to words, and through them, prayfully, to silence.

Why do I write? A cursory glance at the sluggish pace with which i have been lately posting on my blog,  it may seem I don't have much to share , or may be the Muse has abandoned me to embrace a more spirited scribe. Moreover, with Pegassus errant in the realms of AI, I too may have lost my capacity to fly. So now, I  capitulate to the red richness of Mother Earth. It is here i go seeking heart-shaped pebbles, feathers, wild grasses and fairy flowers.

Why do I write? Josie, the cat sleeps all day through all my caresses and tickles. Her dreams swirl around in the form of trembling bamboo leaves, courting butterflies, and a cruising  cuckoo hawk with its manic three-note call...an unblemished snake-skin is my find of the day. I offer it to my mother who believes that storing it in her coffers would  attract wealth and good fortune. I marvel at her and the astute faith she has in her beliefs which  have sustained her through 83 sound years. I, on the other hand, wait for my moment of magic/grace where everything shalt be revealed unto me. In the meanwhile, I write.


inside me 
a slow blind 
imperative 
urging the being 
to brave the
flames smelt 
the self, remold 
recast...

inside me 
emotions 
congeal harden 
like the shell 
of a chrysalis 
somewhere a
brush gently dabs 
with orange a dot 
on each of the folded 
wings: sunrise and 
sunset and the
quest for eternity

Comments

Anonymous said…
This captures the present times beautifully. Great reading.
A.I.M
March 5, 2026 at 3:16 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"It is the journey that matters..."

Wherever we went, we carried Auroville in our hearts. We travelled the world with  memories of our life in the keet house stowed away like some precious treasure within a secret corner of our being, sometimes sharing them with friends we made along the way. We never presented it as the most perfect place, for that it wasn't. But, it was always a place of possibilities...the hurdles were there, and so was their acknowledgement, and the search for solutions. We all knew that Auroville is an ongoing experiment with its ups and downs and its own organic evolution. All that changed a  few years ago when the Centre government decided to hijack the journey called Auroville, and turn it into a `project', where Aurovillians were expected to be 'team members' on a leash, coerced  to walk a straight line, obey...and submit. This implied scrutinizing every movement of its 3000 some residents who have congregated here from around the world pursuing a dream. Stricter budgeting and...
Read more

Here's to...

When nothing makes sense, when all that reaches the ear is the buzz of political jabberwocky or the static of AI voices sounding unnaturally confident, a walk through the village of Chinna Mudaliyar Chawadi in our neighborhood always feels calmingly surreal. Children laughing down the road,  women huddled up over a conversation, a stew of rice and lentils cooking in charred pots placed over wood-fire outside homes.  ...aroma of sputtering spices, a hint of tamarind escaping into the dusky air. Effortlessly do flashes of scenes slip in alongside a collage of memories buried under a dusty layer of time: Here's to cranes furrowing aerial trails and to irises gorging on blue  to shadows skipping on pebbles and to violets shaking off the fall'n snow and here's to the naked pigtailed boy  with anklets and kohled eyes, tittering  twiddling a twig, womenfolk gossip and gurgle; here's to the crow  diving into the setting sun, catching the gold, the silence and the s...
Read more

monsoons

Image
'rain' in watercolors   humid weight of stillness accompanies me  as i sit on the porch; trumpeting of faraway peacocks makes its way across the scattered shadows of floating clouds. A sudden gust of wind rushes through the iron gate, toppling over a few cashew branches, and jangling the house into discomposition. It carries with it a whiff of petrichor and the promise of rains...however, one cannot rely on its over-zealousness anymore. For lately, many an impassioned storms have passed us by...teasingly Determined, I sit through the destructive squall, my eyes closed tight to shut out the dust.  Prepared to be hit by a loosed branch or a an airborne pebble, today, the being is resolved to abandon itself to the auguries of Nature... may be to invoke the blessings of the downpour that red earth in all its auric entity seeks and seeks some more. 'Rain', a poem by Jack Gilbert swerves onto the memory lane and sets an indolent mind on 'cruise' mode. While rain for G...
Read more