Oh to be alive

  Browsing through the pages of history, it seemed like we had finally arrived. But, every single day from the slumber of the patriarchal warp , a disaster is espied. Through the centuries, everything against women connived.   From feticide to infanticide, to  ‘on a whim being just cast aside’. At every step she had to make her presence felt or prove her might and was always victim of remarks, often snide. She tried to fly, she tried to soar, across the firmament or the vast blue sea-shore; she managed too, only to be told:  “you are not good enough,  you know!” She struggled, she persevered, she trounced another score. She made a niche, a place in His tory but there’s rarely an encore. Sometimes she merged into the background accepting her plight. The tide turned and from  victim to perpetrator with  complete ease,  some amongst her creed did slide. They looked down upon the one who had some spunk, ...

It was a hot and humid day. He had slogged since early morning and looked forward to the much-needed break around noon  with the same degree of enthusiasm every day.  Wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, as his palms were heavily callused, he leaned against the hillock and sighed. This was a dicey job, as a part of the hill was being culled a little, to create an artificial overhang: a kind of cliff projecting out to accommodate a restaurant below it. This had been a routine for the past one year, ever since he had taken on the job of a labourer at an upcoming tourist complex site on an island. His days of dressing for work seemed to be embedded in a long-lost past. A past he had let go of: or had he? His fellow workers were not aware that he was an educated, highly placed engineer and that  till about six years ago he was in a plum job; it was indeed hard to guess as he did the same amount of work as anyone else around there, ate the same frug...

Deeply entwined within the flow of time, is the inherent need to discover oneself and define.   The incessant chatter along the way beguiles. What matters most isn’t always visible in bright sunlight; the nook, the cranny, the tiny crevice in deep a ravine, goes unnoticed, unsung -- remains a mystery undefined. The burst of fervour that is named life: in its many swathing folds, truth abidingly resides. The search continues through darkness and light, sometimes it evades, other times it is in plain sight. Yet is distracts and hides, making the quest for it a challenge some days, but often just pure delight.        ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap  

  Etched, embedded, or just superficial, precariously balanced on the edge of yesterday, memories have a strange way to bruise or amuse. Sometimes they engulf and sometimes smother or soothe. Lost in reverie, rooted on a crowded road, eons gush past, as today is just a ruse. Eager to embark on a journey into tomorrow, caught up in a million flashes of yesteryears, moments expand, shrink or seamlessly fuse. Rationalizing your way through the haze, lifting your face up to the Heavens,   with new energy and faith infused. Fragmented or whole, shards or nuggets of shimmering gold, there’s little one can do when they come cascading down or leisurely unfold. ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap      

    Sub m erged under a multitude of layers, lies a distant dream. Envelo ped in mystery or perhaps just a an illusionary slipstream. It tri es to surface and resurface, grappling to stay afloat on its own steam. The impetus of darkness makes it thrive, but in the light, it barely survive s.         How does one then from the deepest recesses of the mind, retrieve? Shards of memories, some broken some peeled, keep emerging evaporate, coalesce.       Astounded by the perpetuality of some, and the belligerence of others playing hide and seek. Some are coy, some have blatant and bizarre streaks. All in all, deeply embedded in every psyche are a million imprints, scathed unscathed, brimming up against the tide: some reach the shore others dissipate, tired of trying.   ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap    

   The night was dreary: dragged on and on, from the echoes of time a distinct sound arose, as pure as dawn. Between a stupor and wakefulness, a dialogue arose, ensued; held forth. Sprinkled it was suddenly with laughter and mirth. The dark dull night was beholden, drawn into the moment it decided to, its desolate cloak shirk off: turn it golden. The edges shone, shorn as it finally was of eons of desolation, angst and desperation. The night opened its arms again, sound and light became one strain. Merging, emerging stretching like a yawn, the night that day, decided to move on. It rejoiced as it waited for the moment of respite, it met its partner from the other side, no longer was there a difference in sight or sides, from then on it was a ritual called twilight.   ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap      

My heart hurt I couldn't breathe, as my eyes skimmed through the report with unease. Quietly without informing a soul, he set out on the road... Sixteen hundred kilometers to his village, all he had was a bicycle & two thousand rupees. Some passersby found him unconscious under a tree. His knapsack intact with two sets of clothes, his adhaar card & a blanket. I choked back tears & gasped, all I managed was a silent plea. Police rushed him to hospital but he left unsung, a hero who just wanted to meet his family. All this in a span of twelve hours as he braved the summer heat. All of forty was he, his wife & two sons will wait endlessly... yet some still sit back in the cool comfort of their homes and declare every now & then, it's tough for them to stay put & breathe, this indeed is 'life's' irony...