June 23, 2010

The Birth Of A River

She peers hard into the massive wall of water that is twenty feet away from her. The wall that has drenched her entirely from so far away, she is too scared to go anywhere close to it. She is no longer sure if the water is tumbling down in giant gushes to the ground at her feet or if the river is travelling backwards to the top of the cliff. She knows that should she hold out a hand under that liquid force, her bones will be powdered beyond restoration.

How she is going to walk through that water into the cave that's hidden behind this apparently wall of solid water , is possibly the toughest question she has faced in a long, long time.

When she last left him here, there was no massive waterfall, just a small wisp of a stream makings its way down calmly on the vertical rocky expanse. When she last left him here, the cave was well lit from the light that shimmered from the river it was placed over. The river she now stood in, the waters gushing around her shoulders as she waded sideways, wondering if there was some way to find the cave again - the cave he had disappeared into, his lips sealed shut, his eyes hiding the vision that would change their life forever, his back turned to her as he disappeared, forbidding her with one small gesture to follow him.

She did not. She returned quietly to a life that would be screaming its vacuum back to her, the vacuum he had left behind. If it were death, she would probably heal over time. But this? No reason, no explanation, no warning and just like that, one evening, he was running, running and she followed him all the way to the cave's entrance.

She returned everyday but dared not enter. She knew he hadn't left it. She had stayed for several days, nights, expecting he would emerge but he did not. She was forced to go back, hungry and hopeless. Everyday, she stayed and waited, afraid to call, afraid to enter and everyday, the waterfall grew and grew until she knew it had finally barricaded her successfully, entirely, from all possibilities of reaching him.

Five hundred years later, she is wading through these new waters, determined to enter the cave. Splinters of ice cascade down, hitting the water with immense force, melting immediately, and she edges in closer every second, the spray turning into slaps on her face. Until she is standing inside the spray. She feels the force of water, lethal and firm like her inability to enter the cave for centuries.

She can wait no more. She steps in, slipping and falling, while the water smashes on her like boulders, her flesh peeling under its power, her eyes blinded to everything from the stinging foam.

She is in the cave. An empty cave with a blind chimney hole that winds its way into the heart of the cliff. She climbs, her limbs numb from the cold, her eyes burning furiously, her ears still echoing the gushing water that rages and denies entry to the world she has left outside, finally. Hours seem to slip by and she still isn't sure if it has only been minutes. It does not matter, these minutes in the face of five hundred years of waiting to see a stream turn into a menacing waterfall.

The hole ends abruptly. She climbs out into a wide, white space, her fingers cracking from the ice she has been clutching. The snow blinds her and she blinks. Twice. Thrice. But the vision does not go. He stands there, frozen, a figurine of white, his surface sparkling in the light that does not come from any sun. An endless white sky and an endless white landscape of snow and a block of ice that resembles a human being. He doesn't move, his glassy eyes looking into worlds she may not see. Not yet. His lips are lifeless.

But only so. Trickling from his head is a tiny drop of water, that winds its way down his icy white cheeks, his chin, the sculpted chest and belly and hip, his left leg and finally making its way toward her. Gradually turning from a drop to a spillage of water from a cup perhaps, passing by her all the way, transforming into a very tiny channel of water. She turns back, following its path.

A sharp fall. A cliff that ends into an ocean of water several thousand feet below, before winding into distances her eyes cannot gauge. Not yet.

The mighty Ganga, curving her path toward the land of disillusioned mortals, from the forehead of her son, who once ran away, for reasons we will never know.

June 13, 2010

Stop dying.

You. You, who worries about turning twenty-five, or thirty. You, who blames your dis-ease on the pollution and traffic and worrisome children and home loans that stretch out to twenty-five years and you are not even sure you will live until sixty. You, who dyes hair and uses anti-ageing creams. You, who has a sprain in your neck and you who say - I am getting old.

You, who plan your retirement, who worry about health insurance, you. Yes, you. You, who thinks it is normal that your grandparents have painful knees and shoulders that slump and hair that is snow white. You, who wonder if you will need to ever live in an old-age home.

Yes, I am talking to you.

Who taught you in school that you must age? Who taught you at home that you must die one day? What book told you that dis-ease is not invited? Who preached to you that you must retire and that 60 is over the hill?

It's your fault that you picked up these things from adults that are as misguided as you are. It is your fault that you allow your body and mind to succumb to the unnatural and die. Everything you see around you is ageing and dying. Who told you that what's happening around you is natural? Who told you that if it happens to plants and animals, it should happen to us too?

You are human, you have one foot stuck in heaven and one planted on earth and you are on top of the food chain, so don't you think you should be the one that the world around you should imitate? If you decide to age and die, then animals should follow suit too, and so should plants?

This post will have few responses, because nobody seems to make sense of what I am saying. Of course this is fiction, because it is stranger than reality. As much fiction as the airplane was before the Wright brothers came along. But this is important for you to know. Please stop ageing. Please stop dying. There is no need to go full that feat and depress so many people in the process, leave unfinished business behind.

Stop dying. Please. And maybe then, things and people around you will follow suit.