Time

The past is gone, the future’s here;
As I live this moment, another seems to appear.
Time is like the waters flowing downstream,
We drink only a portion of it at a time.

We don’t dwell in the waters that flow further down;
We do not dwell in the waters that approach us.
We focus on the water that can be cupped by our hands
As that is what that quenches thirst.

Why then do we dwell in our past?
Why are we anxious about our future?
When we know that the present will matter the most,
Why do we let go of our grasp?

Creative Minds

Let’s create something. Yes.
All you folks with a vivid imagination. I know you can create a world around you. You can create individuals, their characters and their looks. You have enough creativity to create things in your mind that don’t exist. It’s sheer brilliance.
I know you folks who can recall memories no matter how old, like YouTube videos that can be played at any time (but without internet or buffering). I know your photographic memory can recall the pages of your notebook in your own handwriting, during an exam. You know whether it was on the left page or the right; on the top, middle or at the bottom. I know you can even recall a word you scratched out.
And all those among you who are into music, I know how you can predict how each note would feel and sound, just before you play it. I know sometimes you play an entire piece of the guitar and can’t figure out how you did it ‘cause of muscle memory.
I know you have the perfect explanation for extremely complicated things in life. I know your memory is so strong that it links every word or image you hear or see to yet another image or memory. This instinctive linking ability within you makes you grasp things easily.
I know you have secrets. Not one or two, but so many that you selectively share them. You store them like “Horcruxes” (term by JK Rowling) in your close friends.
Your abilities are beyond your imagination, dear creative souls. Never stop. Never change.
Let’s create something. Yes.

Thoughts of Despair

Life at this juncture,
Whispers in my ear;
Tells me a story I didn’t expect,
Fills me up with fear.

Little did I know,
Life would be this way.
Dark and cold, like Blizzard,
No sun, no ray, no hope.

But then I felt a tap
On my shoulder, it was.
Be gentle she told me.
This too shall pass, just because
It has to.

Destiny does not speak
But comes whenever unasked.
Your life’s not a tale of doom,
You just need it unmasked.

I lay there with my thoughts,
My mind alights like the stars.
It was an elixir, it was her-
She healed me from all my scars.

Just You

couple-sunset-silhouette-caribbean-beach-wedding

When we’re both ready,
Sufficiently, for each other,
Heavens would think it’s time
Like there couldn’t be another.
A time to let their story for us
Be declared complete;
A time they think it’s right
To watch it all happen;
Take a backseat.

A story I may not be able to enunciate,
But feel every moment like the last.
You are someone I never lost hope for,
Though terrifying in the past.
My fingers tuck the streaks of hair
That fall over your eyes, right behind your ears.
Your eyes would smile at me,
In a way that wasn’t meant just for your peers.

You understand me even before I say a word,
But you hear me out.
(It’s as if you could read my mind.)
Overwhelmed I am,
There’s nothing we couldn’t talk about.
I play you tunes on my strings;
How attentively you listen!
As if each song was your favourite;
You couldn’t think of another, then.

Your companionship sets me free
From all that I thought was once impossible.
It’s Just You I want,
I could never find anyone more loveable.
The Heavens are happy with what they created
When they see us looking up at the starlit sky.
It’s Just You I need,
Today, tomorrow and any day that could ever pass by.

Burning for You

diya

You hold me on your palms,
Cupping them together,
Like holding a Diya on Diwali night,
Ceremoniously placing me on the ledge.
I look into your eyes
Like a flame.
I see the glimmer in your eyes;
They smile at me.

The winds are my friends,
But are a little playful.
I am glad to feel the presence of  your palms
Around me, against their playfulness.
They feel as warm as the embrace
Of an old friend
I haven’t met
In a long while.

The Winds subside;
After all, they’re friends.
And there I lay burning brightly,
Brightly for you.

A Winter Morning that Once Was

I thirst for a few gulps of water on a bright sunny afternoon. I take my wallet off my jeans and run to the nearest grocery clutching a 10-Rupees note, discomforted with my parched throat. I could feel the water flowing down my throat, as I drank to my satisfaction. Then I chucked the plastic bottle in a bin kept near the store and head to my destination.

As I walked, I reflected on the weather. My mind swayed away to dwell on a memory; a memory from childhood that I so vividly remembered. It was a winter morning, sometime in December. My father and I had come out of our house for a walk. There was a sense of freshness in the air. I could recollect how the breeze pampered my skin. I could see droplets formed by mist gleam on the reeds of grass as they reflected sunlight.

I continued walking on the narrow street, laid with round pebbles and was fascinated by a stone that looked like marble. I picked it up and admired the cold, moist stone for a while. Then my dad called out to me, “Son, drop that stone. You’ll get yourself dirty.” So I dropped the stone, went up to my dad and held his fingers with my small fist. We continued walking for a few minutes enjoying the pleasant abode of nature in all its beauty. We passed by a tea garden on an adjacent street and inhaled the freshness of the moist leaves which exhaled oxygen so abundantly into the unpolluted air. Then slowly the sun beamed its rays on us. I could feel mild warmth that made me cosy.

“HONK!”

A grey SUV was right behind me, unable to go ahead as I had strayed away from the footpath, towards the road. I looked back and moved quickly onto the footpath. I was back – to reality, to now. The sun’s heat wasn’t mild, but unbearable and scorching. When I inhaled, I could smell the smoke that puffed out from the vehicles’ exhausts. There wasn’t a garden of any kind. Only tall, concrete buildings surrounded me. I pulled out a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe my sweaty and dusty forehead.

I cannot even remotely, ignore the fact of climate change. Yes, the world is moving to achieve something greater. But at what cost? We are more interested in making life more convenient and have forgotten the joys in living it fruitfully. We know that we are harming nature. We reduce our guilt by supporting environment campaigns too. But change will only come if ‘you’ do something and believe that it can be done – not once, not twice but every time you are bothered by it.

My Lineage

Part 0 – Introduction

Often people ask me, “Are you a Tamilian or a Malayali?”

In my early days in school, students used to ask, “Are you a South Indian?”

But then I used to reply, “No, I’m from Assam.”

My classmates would get unsatisfied with this answer. Though when they listen to me speak fluent Assamese, they do believe it.

Part I – Paternal Lineage

I do not blame them. The inclusion of my community in Assam’s identity was ignored for several generations. In a few other states, people of my paternal lineage are recognized as Scheduled Tribes. We in Assam, on the other hand, are void of such perks. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t discriminated against, even in school. After all, many Indians have a narrow, stereotypical view of the Adivasi.

The ‘Adivasi’ as the name suggests are the first settlers (of any land, but in my case – India).

They have often been stereotyped as “primitive.” Well, obviously that isn’t the truth. I am a Kharia, specifically a Dudh Kharia, because my dad is one. On many occasions, I have heard him tell stories of my lineage. He would say, till my granddad, we were a clan of priests. No, not priests in cassocks. I’m talking about priests with the ‘Sacred thread’, clad in white or saffron, having topknot hair (Chon’ti).

Among the Adivasi, we were Pujaris (priests), which is the equivalent of a Hindu Brahmin.

My ancestors revered cows and had similar practices as that of Hindus. They also revered nature.

LR pic-290

(My paternal grandmother)

Part II – Maternal Lineage

My mother was born to a son with an Anglo-Indian father and a Naagvanshi Munda woman (Jharkhand). Her father had an English father and an Odia mother.

They were among the English-men who had settled in India during the British rule.

Part III – The Roman Catholic Church

Though my dad’s ancestors were Adivasi Priests, he was born into a Roman Catholic family. Are you wondering how? It’s simple. My paternal granddad was baptized into the Roman Catholic Church at his own will. So, both my paternal grandparents and my paternal uncles/aunties are Catholics. They do, however, respect the traditions of the Kharias.

My mother was also born into a Roman Catholic family, although initially, my granddad was Anglican.

Part IV – “Isn’t ‘Kerketta’ a surname from Jharkhand?”

Yes, Kerketta is a common surname in states like Jharkhand and Chhattisgarh. Kharias in Assam were originally from these states. But during the British rule, many Adivasis migrated from these states for various reasons. Some came for jobs whereas others liked the ambience in Assam and got settled.

Part V – Conclusion

Now you know my lineage. But that isn’t all I told you. I told you about Adivasi groups and their traditions. Permit me to say, if we were primitive, we wouldn’t be getting straight A’s in class at a recognized and formal Educational Institute, in an unbiased setting. I also informed you about the Adivasi who have migrated to a different state. You have also been narrated about how the Adivasi have been absorbed into the Roman Catholic Church. I have also mentioned briefly about Anglo-Indians.

But who am I in the end? I am an Indian who was born into a Roman Catholic family. We are a country of beautiful lineages and exquisite diversities. But then, why do we discriminate?

History decides our heritage, but not what we want to leave behind. Hence, even though I am proud (not arrogant) of my lineage, I identify myself with what I can do now in order to leave behind a heritage for not just my succeeding generations, but for all future generations of the world.

The World and its Mortals

This world is home to people.
Some are mere mortals by choice.
Others desire growth
And raise their voice.
Some hinder a flame
That struggles to ignite.
Others watch their brethren
Curse and indulge in a petty fight.

Why do you ask, “Where are you from?”
Shouldn’t his gesture of trust in you suffice?
Don’t take the stranger you met to be naive
He’s just being nice.

People forget
That a Cup is not a victory forever,
But a step to a greater leap ahead.
The same feast on unintended interpretations
Of Words,
To make sure their envious minds are well-fed.
Why do we blame words?
Why do we invite fear?
We look at conflicts like bottomless pits;
Dig our own grave; bring our end near.

We feed our arrogance with insecurity.
We are stubborn as an ox, no matter what truths we find.
Such acts make our brethren wonder,
“Am I among their kind?”

We make a mockery of human potential;
Choose not to have an identity.
Yet this world beholds us, mortals,
Like a deity that preserves Humanity.
Some continue to defile it.
Others, through actions, deify its Creator.
Hope is what delays the End of time;
Holds the world together.