Some times I reach the rocky wilderness that lay beyond the streets .There I see sun-smelling rocks, and shrubs that make the other world that exists beyond our humdrum existence .
Here I click my handy camera not for photography or for a poet’s beauty-tokens but for the strange frames in which rocks ,shrubs and people co-exist and a frame brings strange bed-fellows together in a plane of existence.
I click to understand colors , understand shapes, not for pictures which are totalities from a beauty vision formed by well-thought motifs.
I click for the strange ways in which rock merges in light with dead trees, for shared consciousness of rocks, trees and people , machines caught in a single frame encompassing these and several elements .I click for the strange chemistry which binds the sun, the rocks, the shrubs and bits of the blue sky that lay beyond and remained glued to them.
I now want to re-learn alphabet wiping off traces of the old one from the slate of child’s memory using saliva with which kids wipe the alphabet writ over and over.
How I miss teacher’s long gown and the lime tree that had stuck to alphabet memory as a smell and the crows dropping pebbles in pots of increasing water level as auditory experience on water.
“f” now sounds adult and vulgar not a sound of sandalwood paste we would slap on our boyish foreheads as lips reverently came together like they were hands in namaste.
I want to re-learn the whole thing.
Walking behind was death’s shadow ,a hit with no run, a knock on the head, a shadow that had no original being. A hospital monitor is now television to brain ticking in tubes to her body.
She who had mothered our new year was a friend amidst exquisite stones . She is now a stone behind bone froze in time like stone maidens that danced for ever on temple walls.
Now they take an extra ox on rent , a young ox whose bovine future lies with the God’s men when he is set to the plough. The ox , for a mere Rs 100 rent ,circumambulates temple for man’s wife to bear child. Ox is an innocent God hope.
God is inside that old stone. For us to pray for our sons for their wives to bear child, we search Him in chinks of the temple’s bamboo sky.
(Kode Mokku is a ritual offering in a temple in which a young ox is taken round the temple and tied in the temple precincts. The devotees believe they will be cleansed of their sins and childless beget children)