PHOTOLOGUE

Musings with the inner and the outer.

I strain. Only for a while. Things. Upright. On the floor. Spreading. Snakes and ghosts. Funny. Invisible visible. Comforting mysteries. Call the unresolved by any name. Then they appear. The buzzed, just awakened, beginning their day. Crooked faces at the end of twitching stalks. What are you doing here? I ask. Busy. Busy waiting, they say. What or whom are you waiting for? We don’t know. That’s all there is to do.

And you! You turtle faced, lichen haired grotesque, flicking your tongue for no reason. Where did you come from? He grumbled and grunted. One eye blinked. He understood me, this I knew, but he could not speak. His placid eye blinked again. There, colloidal words appeared like sprinkled sand on water. Easy to read. I don’t know where I came from, I have always been. I’ve never seen myself but am delighted to see you. 

Sometimes the song drops from our lips. Okay! Then the hours escape our fists. Cool! The wind and the bee steal from us. So only bad things happen to you? Nothing nice? What is bad about it? You say this as if you are suffering. No, you got it wrong. We say this because we have the song, the hour. And what do the wind and the bee steal from you? Oh! They steal our joy. What would they do with your joy? It’s not for them, they say, it’s for others.

You demented dark bellied fool, stop following me. I don’t follow you. Why do I see you all the time? Stop looking behind and I will disappear.

O, Hollyhock! How such tender skin? What creature’s flesh, squeezed between buns of bread makes your meal? Tell me your secret. What pill? What ointment? Fancy unguent for your ankle and cheek? She smiled the morning’s elegance.

What about you, Morning Glory? What about me? How are you so alone? I am alone but not lonely, and I prefer it this way. Why? I love to live in my glory.

You are just a ceramic vessel, identical to the thousands made together. That’s not a nice thing to say. It is the fact, you know. Why do you remind me of the obvious? Well, just so you are not smug and think too much of yourself. Good for you, you are not like the millions born with you. But right now, we make sense of your tea and table.

You are safe here, says the room, enclosed by the axis, black, white. Some colour. Do you want to pull the curtain? I like to see the flowers outside. It’ll soon get warm, and you’ll be sweating. I sit on the bed and wonder. The Hydrangea lives in many dimensions, but it is bound too.

Cleaning effort. Sloppy. Innocent. Colliding arcs. A stiff landscape becomes the breath of a story. Everything has a purpose.

You thought I’d tumble down the slope. Ha! I am the face of the sky and I move in circles. You change colour? Yes, I do. When are you blue and orange at the same time? Grow up brother. In me you see the sky’s mood.

How long have you been like this? Say something. Are you sleeping? Looks like it. Hands on the tummy. Mouth open. Knees bent. Must be for long. Weed has conquered the ear and the nostril. Eyebrows are bushes. Is he alive? Yes, he is alive. His chest rises and falls. Meanwhile the forest rolls without fear beyond the shore. 

You look ready to launch. Are you aiming for a place? We’re looking at the sky. Why? They say the creator lives in the sky. Who told you that? Can’t you see, everything faces the sky. Have you ever seen the creator? We see Him every day. How? Look up, He is shining upon us.

I often wonder, are you ascending or descending. It depends. On what? On where you are. Please explain. If you are above us, you’ll see us climb. And if I am below? You’ll still see us climb. Wow! That’s one hell of an explanation. Wait! I am not finished. Please continue. If you walk with us, you’ll know.

The world is divided between light and dark. It’s not so simple, the pine said. I know, I know, there are many in-between regions. The pine did not comment. He did not think much of my observation. The world is the same, it just has different levels of light. So where is the division? He said smiling.

How long did it take for you to scatter coins upon my path? Not much. Give me a number. As long as it took you to see your path.

Where would you have reached had you not been entangled? We’re flowing–it’s so obvious. You appear like a stilled river, not going anywhere. Who stops? Nothing stops, everything flows. But you seem halted. And you are in a hurry to judge.

What was the purpose of such a brutal twist? Aren’t you hurting? I grew like this. Why? So I can hear the forest. Oh really? Yes, voices don’t live at the same place, you know. That made you twist? Yes. Odd! (The truth is, trees grow in a twisty fashion in windy areas. It gives them strength)

I had these conversations on our recent trip to a lovely place in the hills of Uttarakhand, called Mukteshwar.