June 14, 2012 § 4 Comments

As distance grows and desires reassemble, daylight begins a waltz.

Tucked amidst the clouds, decades of books lie scattered, as soft jazz calls out to the rain. We search through more than ourselves as fading paper reminds us of journeys we’ve taken only with our minds. In memory of who we were and who we sought to be, we gather wet soil and mould another becoming day. To remember that our lives are but fleeting, and that tomorrow will bring more rain.

Tomorrow, there will be.

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June 8, 2012 § 6 Comments

Rain lightly dusts us in a breeze rattling through tea bushes and silver oak, reminiscent of the spray of the sea.

The monsoons arrived a week ago and were quick to kidnap the steady sun. We soon found ourselves in the liberating shackles of clouds as they began reclaiming the mountains with plundering winds. We seem to have returned to the routine madness of the skies, as light and warmth joyously dance through our valleys in silence.

June 4, 2012 § 8 Comments

A few cloudless hours and a week ago, his body was found. Stiff from the weather, there was a meagre moment of doubt, cleared immediately by the visible chip on his left horn; Boltu was dead. He lay unharmed, as if age merely ran him down and swiftly led him away through the night. There wasn’t much to be said, so they charred his massive body, returning it to the earth.

Time has passed; schools have reopened with the first sighting of monsoon clouds, nudging us on with gentle reminders that with the changing of seasons and tides, we become stories with words adrift.

May 31, 2012 § 6 Comments

On occasion, you need to return to remember love.

This past month has seen descendings to varied elevations, from that below the sea to a few metres over a thousand above. A fiery gulmohar, a shadow of elephants, a hornbill praying for rain, an exhausted pregnant goat, a common mormon and Indian crow searching for succulent summer nectar, river and sea food – all accompanied by tepid humidity and dust.

I was lost to worlds of novelty with new-fangled people, vegetation and wildlife only to climb back up the hills, drape a cloth around my own, and walk a familiar road lit solely by a soon-to-be-full moon.

May 23, 2012 § 11 Comments

I wish I could give you the sound of the sea, not sealed inside a shell. The grand power with which it conducts its frothing waves that struggle to burst forth all at once, but are victims of melody. The silence you hear when it holds its breath in anticipation of lightly toeing the sand, the only moment when it is mere and vulnerable. The sounds that it permits the wind to carry, and those that it keeps close, drawing you nearer. The heaving of the tides, the spilling of the waves onto lands littered with crab-holes that travel deep into places you cannot traverse without holding tightly to the roots of palms. The same sea that through eyes of many, travels to plains that become deserts, that become mountains, that hold snow that greets clouds who dust it through skies bereft of rain that has already fallen on your outstretched hand; I take it in mine.

May 20, 2012 § 2 Comments

Early morning clouds come bounding in to nudge us gently out of bed. They gather, carrying us into the open to view the day. We float onward, and as they disperse, remain dangling in the mist. Looking east, we gape at the apparent moon that perilously balances all its weight on a neighbouring hill. We hadn’t been able to stare at the glare for days, but the sun calmly watches us as the mist begins to clear, trees shake out rain, and we resume searching for foot holes.

Smoke billows rebelliously on the road as the strident afternoon sun teases it forth.