Oh to be alive

                The river was in full-spate, the sky overcast. The sound of the water was soothing yet strangely disturbing. Children frolicked in the fallow field adjacent to his verdant patch of land. He looked skyward anticipating a heavy shower and hurriedly put away the tools, as he wound up for the day. A quiet satisfaction cloaked his being as he had managed to sow the last of the saplings singlehandedly after three days of strenuous, back breaking work. In his ancient, tiny, sleepy and extremely picturesque hamlet, the village folk revered him, though he was still learning and not as adept at the occupation he had inherited from his forefathers. He had, however, unleashed a silent revolution of sorts by introducing few innovative techniques that he had picked up along the way. One such addition to the daily milieu was a mini-tractor as he liked to call it, a smaller version of the one used in the plains; but this was more suitab...

  A fallen leaf, blooming flowers, sunshine cascading across scintillating bowers. A whiff of perfume, a quiet afternoon, faded words of a poem playing hide and seek in the mind’s nook. Memories flashing, fading: decoding, akin to different shades of blue; some shine bright, some toned down like dew. The essence remains, layers crisscross   lost in a multitude of hues, each following an albatross. Sepia tinted pictures on the wall squint through time and often cringe; eagerly awaiting the annual overhaul. Tear droplets singe, sentiments high strung, feelings sting, ramble unsung.   Reminiscing bygone days, is like being buried in ice, slowly melting away the layers that ensconce and hold, bind.    @Suverchala Kashyap        

The beguiling intrigue,  the impending upsurge,  compels one to move on, steering clear of any scourge. The end entices, tugs like  a swirling vortex's urge,  where eons of  longing converge. Beginnings enchant,  the untrodden path allures,  untouched; pure. Across varied dimensions,  lives diverge, some splurge. Cloaked in mystery the  journey slowly unfolds,  it implores, it coaxes; it spurs. Prodding on to follow  ‘the dream', in the land  of the one and only 'Supreme'. @Suverchala Kashyap 

  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