The Beginning, and The End

So much to speak, yet so little time.

“In the midst of winter, I found within me, an incredible summer.”

                                                                                                                    -Albert Camus

It doesn't matter what you want to write. For the moment you hold the pen, the moment the pen touches paper, your heart will break the barriers that the mind has imposed upon it. The heart shall flow, and let it flow. Let the words flow from your heart, as blessed water from a forest stream. Let the words glide, as effortless as the wind that graces the skies. Let your heart and soul reach that place deep within yourself, that temple of incredible calm and peace.

I've always liked temples. And churches. Temples at dusk and early hours of dawn. Churches in the day.

There are few sights in the world more beautiful than a quiet temple, lit in the darkness, surrounded by a hundred mud lamps. Chuttuvilakku, it’s called. The light of the hundred mud lamps flicker and waiver, yet they hold steady, in unison. Like the heartbeat of a hundred children. Like the marching beat of a hundred soldiers, who march in the knowledge that they will not return. The silence and the calm within the walls offer solace from the noises of the urban world. Even the occasional cry of the “ Chemboth” does not break the silence. Temples are beautiful.

In the distance, the mullah calls for the evening prayer. It is a melancholic semi song, and I realize I do not know what it means. I remember something from childhood- that I used to try and learn what the mullah sings. I also realize, I've never been inside a mosque.

The Execution of Sanity

Ever since the heinous crime in the rape capital of our nation, the country has been flooded with demonstrations and protests. The social media is abuzz with self proclaimed justice keepers baying for blood. In reality, this crime has revealed the dark side of the society- the side that normally remains suppressed, the primal,blood thirsty beast within everyone of us. It is appalling to see young minds describing in gory details the exact nature of the punishment they want to inflict on the accused.

A common argument usually being put forward is that in certain countries in the middle east, torture and violent execution is handed out to rapists, so why not implement it here? The simple answer to this argument lies in the human rights records of these nations. For it is in these same countries that women have zero rights and freedoms, and very little in way of justice. In these nations, the law of land demands that females who commit adultery should be stoned to death. Is this the state of affairs we want to see our India arrive at?

For all those clamoring for death sentences for the accused- if that punishment would prevent rape,by the same logic, our nation will be free of murders and terrorist acts. Punishments hardly serve as deterrents, for criminals do not think about the consequences of their actions. Education, sensitization and open dialogue prevent crimes before they happen, and that is the right direction we should focus our thoughts in.

The Gypsy and The Caged Bird

It was a beautiful bird, and so was the song. It was a beautiful day, and so the bird had sung.

The wanderer came to her side, enthralled by the zest of her voice, lost in the music of her making. He stretched his hand to touch the lovely bird- alas, he couldn’t. A cage of glass kept him from the warmth of touch, the truest of all our senses. The cage was of crystal glass. The cage was beautiful. A cage, it still was.

And now our bird looks his way, and notices the man the cage has kept at bay. A wandering gypsy, she thought, surely a man not to trust. Long locks of hair, bearded jaw and a light so deep in his eyes. Still she likes him, and so she sings once again, in a voice of silk, laced with raisins of laughter, as sweet as honey and milk.

He asks her,” What a song cometh from thy lips, how it changes my little world!” She laughs in pleasure, with a silent guilt. He asks again,” Would thee come, in my hands? Together we shall fly in fairy winds, and see oceans blue, winter lands afar, sing to the sweet delight of many a misty mountain night, wander through grass so green, drink blessed water from a sparkling stream.”

The light in his eyes so shone, that her heart skipped many a beat and tone. Yet she spoke, in pleading notes, more for herself than for him- “ I am bound to this cage of glass, and its master too, and I must be loyal to his love.  Thou are full of life and brightest hope, with many a word silky smooth. Yet Stranger, I cannot break this cage of glass, nor can I break my master’s heart.”

The wanderer sighed, then smiled. With a last look at the lovely bird, he turned around. Only then did the lovely bird see the wings of mighty white. He flapped them once and off he flew, the angel , or the wanderer as we knew..