“Aathi”/ Gift in Green by Sara Joseph

“Aathi” ,is the immensely haunting verdant living space brought alive by Sarah Joseph in her Malayalam novel of the same name, which has been simultaneously translated to English by Valsan Thampu , with the title “Gift in green”.

And a gift it is, bestowed upon the people there, whose lives are so intricately connected with the moods of the water, the mangroves, the fields created in the water- logged land by building bunds layered alternatively with the slush that they scoop out from the water bed and the lushly growing tall green grasses that they reap from all around.

They have a method to creating those sowing grounds and a tradition to the sowing itself which ensures that the quantity of seed they throw into the raised beds that remain after the salty water has drained out from the escape valve, is enough to feed the birds till they build their nests and lay their eggs and still leave enough of them in the soil that will germinate and grow into a crop.

And after the harvest, the fields become the breeding grounds for the prawns…a cycle of seasons and sustainability.

Aathi is symbolic of the harmony and an acknowledgement of the mutual dependence of Man and Nature.

And a “Tampuraan” takes care of them, they believe, their very own deity who had come floating by to lodge himself there and who had been affectionately and reverently housed in an abode that was as unpretentious as their lives. Tampuran had been happy too amongst them, it had seemed, below the thatched roof of the humble “temple”, undemanding and unassuming , patient and as accepting of whatever was being played out, as “Aathi itself.

And the Tampuran is the first one to be displaced, when Kumaran the prodigal son of Aathi, returns with new promises of abundance and progress which will be overseen by the new God that he anoints after buying the land.

And that was only the beginning of the takeover, motivated by greed and self-interests, under the guise of concern and good intentions.

“Aathi” is a story beautifully woven through many layers, with as many threads and as many hues of the days and nights that constituted life in the waters there and the surrounding land and the swing of seasons that breathed through the dwellings and its inhabitants.

There are story –tellers within this story and lessons that are sourced from those tales that they then string through their collective consciousness in a way that they feel will contribute to the harmony all around.

“Aathi “ is a symbol of a certain kind of yearning for a world that is not driven by greed and cunning and exploitation of man and nature.

It is a story of the underlying human spirit that will hang on as long as it is possible to what is closest to nature and minimal and sustainable.

It is a story of manufactured consent, that we see all around us and which we become part of, when definitions of success and happiness are fed to us with such conviction that the world begins to be too much with us , as Wordsworth had described it.

“The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.”

 

Leaves

This is in response to the prompt from this blogpost:

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS June 22/19

This is the first time I am participating and I am not at all sure how it has turned out.But yes, I did type this in as closely as I formulated my thoughts .

“Leaves leave beautiful impressions in my consciousness .They speak of Nature’s infinite variety , of beauty , of life itself, the very source from which everything else emanates. They are magical , trapping the streams of sunlight into their being with immense love for everything else that is in existence on this planet and synthesising the energy that sustains every ecosystem.
They throb with sensitivity, fluttering in the breeze, exulting in the sun , catching the glints and smiling in the reflected glory .The hues of green, each different from the other as are their contours and textures. Each revels in its uniqueness without any sense of competition or conflict , confident of its own worth and its place under the sun.

Each ages gracefully, turns yellow , flutters and falls and waits unhurriedly to become one with the earth. Waits, till it finds its way through the sap that gives life to another form of flora .
And so the cycles go on of renewal and beauty and joy and trust in the laws of a compassionate universe.

 

Truant

I was on my way
I was in a hurry
I decided on a detour
That would shorten the distance

It wasn’t a day
When I could tarry
To stop by the store
To talk to an acquiantance

I cut through the fields
And the mango grove
Then through the palms
Beside the river.

From amongst the reeds
Rose a white dove
At the distance of an arm
Like a sliver of silver.

My feet on the pedals
Slowed down and stopped
Alighting , I rested
My cycle against a trunk

I took in a lungfull
Of the air and was hooked
To the idea of a school kid
Doing the bunk

 

It’s raining again

These pictures were clicked by a Facebook friend Abru Manoj. The little boy is his son Tanmay. “The rains are addictive” was Abru’s caption for the first photograph and “The rain is a kiss on the soul” for the second. I just took off from there 🙂

Tanmay’s expressions are always so very endearing and the father manages to capture them so well:-)

The rains are addictive
The way it smells when falling
On the dry earth

It holds me captive
With its outpouring
That grows in height and girth.

I stay stuck to the windows
To watch it drenching
The slender pepper vines

And to wait for the wet crows
As they take their time assembling
On the swaying electric lines

I wonder what they’re saying
The palm fronds and the breeze
And those clouds look all ready
To burst into a sneeze.

That white stork in flight
From earthly leanings freed
Revelling in his solitude
Across the paddy fields

I wonder why the wind
Won’t stay put in one place
And why the trees nod their heads
To everything that it says .

 

Conversations

The stream chatting with the mountains
The breeze lending its ears
Confused they were with borders
And with mortal fears.

They try to dam(n) my freedom
Gurgled the chirpy waters
They blast us to deform
Said the slopes with cynical laughter.

Well, at least I’m better off
I still roam where I will
The breeze blew kisses to the ripples
And the meadows and the hills.

But hey , you still could have some fun
Just do a jiggle with your plates
You’ll see them run for cover
When they see a river in spate.

 

The singing stones

The river flowed on
Lying on the river bed
The stones surrendered
Of itself
Bit by bit.

The years moved on
Where Time’s reins led
And the stones marvelled
At themselves
And their grit.

 

Entranced

She showers in the moonlight’s glimmer
Behind the curtains of the clouds
She walks a pitter-patter
She is bewitchingly proud.

She lets down her tresses
And tosses them about
And the droplets cascade downwards
Before an admiring crowd.

 

I am …therefore you are!

I pace up, slow and lightly
I pour down as rain
I freeze high and mighty
I thaw through the plains.

I feed the field and crop
I rest fleetingly as dew
I rise up to the treetop
I colour myself for the brew.

I can prance ever so sprightly
I can sit still with disdain
I can tug at your heartstrings achingly
As I course through your veins

In the still of the forests
I can hang on leaf tips
And fall in slow motion
To kiss the green, grassy lips

I can quench and nurture
I can be your refuge
I can be the trickle austere
I can as well be the deluge

The ubiquitious drop
That’s what I am, true!
But you’ll shut your shop
If I vanished or withdrew.

Do not take me for granted
Do not waste wantonly
With me your life started
Don’t write for me an elegy.

I am generous to a fault
But don’t take it too far
Rein your greed in to a halt
Remember, I am…therefore you are!!

 

The earth’s lament

It took me millions of years
To cool down
And many millions more
To mix and match the elements
To create life
And I patiently spun around.

Now the Cosmos jeers
And Time frowns
And I am hurt to my core
To find myself in this predicament
Of continuing strife
With that work that had done me proud.

 

There is too much beauty to quit

 

There is too much beauty to quit
Too many songs to sing.
Too many worlds to create
Seemingly,out of nothing.

Too many voices clammering
To find resonance elsewhere.
Too many waves, of shore denied
Simmering to take on a dare.

Too many hushed whisperings
Subtle, sour and sweet
Too many sighs that cling
To memories of past defeat.

Too many hopes to sow
Too fertile the ground
Too inviting the future, to let go
Too much love to go around