സഹിതം: സൗഹൃദങ്ങളുടെ പുസ്തകം

കൊറോണക്കാലത്ത് യാദൃശ്ചികമായി ചെന്നുചേർന്ന - വന്നു ചേർന്ന - ഒരു ഓൺലൈൻ സ്നേഹക്കൂട്ടം. എന്നും രാത്രി ഒന്നൊന്നര മണിക്കൂർ ശ്രദ്ധയോടെ ഷൗക്കയെ കേട്ടിരുന്ന, ആത്മോപദേശശതകത്തിലൂടെയും, ധമ്മപദയിലൂടെയും, മൊഴിയാഴത്തിലൂടെയും, ജനനീനവരത്നമഞ്ജരിയിലൂടെയുമൊക്കെ സഞ്ചരിച്ച്, സ്വയം ഒന്നടങ്ങാനും, മെച്ചപ്പെടാനുമൊക്കെ സഹായിക്കുന്ന തരത്തിൽ ഒരന്തരീക്ഷം - ഒരു സാധ്യത - ഒരുങ്ങിവന്ന കാലം. കൊറോണയുടെ പേരും പറഞ്ഞ് നമ്മൾ സമൂഹത്തിലും ഓൺലൈനിലുമൊക്കെ “സുരക്ഷിതരായി” അകലം പാലിച്ച് ഒതുങ്ങിക്കൂടിയപ്പോൾ, പലപ്പോഴും നമ്മൾ പോലും അറിയാതെ ആ സുരക്ഷിതത്വത്തിൽ അരക്ഷിതരായപ്പോൾ, ലോകത്തിന്റെ വിവിധ കോണുകളിൽ നിന്നുമുള്ള സഹൃദയരായ കുറെ മനുഷ്യരുടെ ഒരു കൂട്ടം, ഹാർമണിയെന്ന പേരിൽ രൂപംകൊണ്ടു.

എന്നും രാത്രി ഷൗക്കയുടെ ക്ലാസ് കഴിഞ്ഞാൽ പിന്നെ ഹാർമണി “ബാക് ബെഞ്ചേഴ്സിന്റെ” കലാപരിപാടികൾ തുടങ്ങും. പാടാത്തവർ പാടി, ആടാത്തവർ ആടി. കൃത്യമായ “പ്രോംപ്റ്റുകളിലൂടെ” നമ്മൾ ചാറ്റ് ജി പി ടിയുടെ ഉള്ളിലെ ‘അറിവിനെ’ വിളിച്ചുവരുത്തുന്നത് പോലെ, ആഴമേറിയ ചിന്താ ശകലങ്ങളിലൂടെ - പ്രോംപ്റ്റുകളിലൂടെ - റോബിൻ ചേട്ടൻ നമ്മൾ ഓരോരുത്തരുടെയും ഉള്ളിലെ ചിന്തകളെ, സർഗ്ഗാത്മകതയെ, ചർച്ചകളിലൂടെ പുറത്തേക്ക് കൊണ്ടുവന്നു. വിധിക്കാനാരുമില്ലാത്ത ഒരിടമായതുകൊണ്ടുതന്നെ ഹാർമണി സമാധാനമുള്ള ഒരു ഇടമായി മാറി.

എന്തായാലും, ഹാർമണിയുടെ സ്നേഹം ഇന്ന് സൗഹൃദങ്ങളുടെ ഒരു പുസ്തകമായി ഇതാ ലോകത്തിന് മുന്നിൽ സമർപ്പിക്കപ്പെട്ടിരിക്കുന്നു. ഏറെ പ്രിയപ്പെട്ടവരുടെ എഴുത്തുകൾക്കൊപ്പം എന്റെ രണ്ടു കവിതകളുമുണ്ട്. സഹിതം യാഥാർഥ്യമാക്കിയ ഷൗക്കയ്ക്കും, എഡിറ്റ് ചെയ്ത റോബിൻ ചേട്ടനും സവിത ചേച്ചിക്കും, പിന്നെ പ്രസാധകനായ ജീജോ ചേട്ടനും ഒരു പയിനായിരം സ്നേഹം…

ഈ പുസ്തകം സമർപ്പിക്കപ്പെട്ടിരിക്കുന്നത് കുറച്ചു നാൾ മുൻപ് നമ്മെ വിട്ടുപോയ ഇബ്രാഹിംക്ക എന്ന സൗമ്യസാന്നിധ്യത്തിനാണ്. അദ്ദേഹത്തെ നേരിട്ടറിയുന്നതിലുപരി മറ്റൊരുപാട് മനുഷ്യരുടെ അനുഭവങ്ങളിലൂടെയാണ് പരിചയം. എല്ലാവരോടും സ്നേഹത്തോടെ, അനുകമ്പയോടെ,  പരിഗണിച്ചുകൊണ്ട് ജീവിച്ച ഒരു മനുഷ്യൻ. അദ്ദേഹത്തെ നേരിൽ കണ്ടത് സായിഗ്രാമത്തിൽ വച്ച് നടന്ന ഹാർമണിയുടെ സ്നേഹസംഗമത്തിലായിരുന്നു. Truly, a sweet and gentle soul… ഇബ്രാഹിംക്കയെ ഓർത്തുകൊണ്ട്….

സഹിതം

Infinite in the Ephemeral

Yes, it is about love, all about love. What else can I write about? What else brings joy to my heart at this very moment? What else conjures meaning, and adds a little, tiny speck of hope to my life? What else, what more than watching two people in love, fighting for each other and having each other's back, paving their paths and piecing their lives together? Ah, this moment, where love is not a contract to be enforced or a sin to be abhorred, but a dream to be dreamt, and a dance to be danced. It is beautiful, it is poetic, it is simple, it is majestic. It’s just people in love. It’s their stories—stories of how they are transformed by it, given a choice by life itself: a choice to elevate oneself and the other and transcend; a chance to learn belief, faith, trust, support, failure, and forgiveness and to relearn if necessary. If possible.

Love is a game of chance. It’s a gamble. And not at all for the lighthearted. It takes tremendous force of courage in one’s heart to acknowledge love within oneself. It takes even more—a leap of blind, audacious faith—to express it to another. And only the one with a warrior's heart can take this leap, for he alone can rise again if the cupid's arrow turns out to be a poison dart. Only then, can he gather the shattered pieces of his heart, understand the emotion with a deeper awareness, forgive, be grateful and find peace in what remains. 

Love gives us our name—or rather, it adds meaning to it. Names are sacred and important to an individual as these strange combinations of letters tether us to this earth and its exceptionally frail and fickle realities. Names anchor us to each other, so that we may not drift afar, stray into those estranged corners of our hearts and wall up, or be lost forever. When we call a name, infused with the tenderness of our passion, of our love, then that is enough, the depth that it resonates is enough for the beloved to wake up and find the way back. But this requires one to exorcise love out of the mind, the brain and its constant computations. 

An analytical mind might reject love as irrational, a fleeting indulgence unworthy of serious consideration. Because an analytic mind will only attempt to dissect this experience, if the experience does not satisfy all the hypotheses set by society, the peer groups, the literature, the media, mediocrity and whatnot, the mind will reject it, and cast the feeling out as irrational, reducing it to chemical combinations and reactions. But what about its vitality? What about that undeniable charge that wells up deep in one's heart and soul? What about the sheer weight of optimism that one most certainly feels, even when faced with the gravest of odds, while being in love? What ignites that certainty? What inspires that incessant spirit to push forth, hold fast, and hold true? Can it be computed, or assessed by objective measures? Can it even be understood or defined by any metrics? This is a mirror set against one's soul. The image it reflects is incorruptible. One must face it, and witness how easy it is for mountains to crumble, the earth to shatter, rivers to run dry and the oceans to die. And yet, we continue to build our sandcastles, enthroning, enshrining, or even incarcerating our love. How simple we truly are! 

Love. An emotion so absolute, unique, pristine, universal, and terribly obvious in its nature. Yet, it is the same that is arbitrary, familiar, sullied, particular and profoundly enigmatic. In this sense, it resonates with the nature of life itself. An extension of it even. Two forces, entwined for eternity. Lucky are those who have found this earthly tether of eternity. Luckier still are those who understand it.  

Love, then, is life’s most daring challenge—a call to rise above our fears and step into the unknown. A challenge set by life and time to reveal what we truly are. It is both a whisper and a roar, a melody that demands courage and yet soothes the soul. It nudges us to bravery all the while lulling us to the brink of insanity. It pushes us to the edge of reason, daring us to let go of control, embrace the chaos of vulnerability, and find beauty in imperfection. But, isn't that the occupational hazard that makes life worth living? Love doesn’t promise certainty; it offers something greater—the endless possibility of becoming. It is not a contract sealed with guarantees but a gift wrapped in fleeting, fragile moments that shimmer with eternity. I cannot promise you forever, because this moment is barely all we truly have. But I can promise this: as long as my heart beats, it will search for eternity in every moment we share. The possibility of a forever and beyond—a chance to weave the infinite into the ephemeral, to etch meaning into the fragile fabric of now. Life’s rarest and most precious offering. And isn’t that enough? Isn’t that everything?

- Harishna   (25/01/2025)

Farewell 2024

How should I say goodbye to 2024 when I know that it's only the calendar that turns? A mathematical and astronomical concoction of convenience designed to ensure that the wheels kept turning and churning through the leftovers of our lives. 

The year-end reflection is always quite an adventure, as it almost often involves navigating through half-forgotten labyrinths, excavating buried doors, and prying them open, invariably causing a torrent of memories and emotions to rush out from the deepest pits from everything and from everywhere. And it's an unforgiving experience most of the time. Having to live through the agony or ecstasy, or all at once, again, once more, knowing all that remains remains forever.

One door I accidentally crashed into this time was almost 6 years old, or more, I am not sure anymore. And it reminded me of the evening when I realised how invisible I truly was to what I thought to be my silly little world back then. As I listened to peers recollecting fond memories of friendship, love, and togetherness, I witnessed my absolute absence in their memories and how oblivious my existence was. After all, in the memories of those we hold dear, it is there that we truly survive. And what happens to the one, invisible and forgotten? It's a curious old door, and now it's sealed with a sigh. Like many before. For good. 

And then I saw many other doors. In some places, I wondered, what remains at the ruin of dreams? All artfully conjured images, masterly woven stories, and meticulously crafted sequences of desires, passions and hopes. And now, where do they rest? Rejected, ignored, and lost to time. Somewhere else, there was grief, pain, doubt, anger, rage and the crippling suffering that it offers. Waiting to pull me in. Consume me with all its might. And the pull is strong, the lull is lethal. The futility of holding on. But is it worth it? Is it worth the torment? 

Nonetheless, it's always about the lessons, isn't it? It's always about finding the light at the end of that damn cliched tunnel. More than finding; I take, it's always about the search for that light. It's the desperate scavenger hunt of one who cannot find his own light. And I think that’s ok. Because we are, after all, frail little humans, and not all will have the strength to pull themselves together, all the time. Sometimes, it makes sense to reach out to the light of others. Just be careful not to snuff it out, that’s all. 

The skies that once shone bright now remain eclipsed and charred. The moonlit night has now become a distant memory destined to fade out, and the dream of the one beautiful dawn remains an impossible, reluctant dream. And at times like these, the only choice is to make peace with what is. And perhaps find the courage to resume that search for light, the light that is flickering and conditional. Occasional impressions on the canvas of one eternal darkness. 

Isn’t that what this game is in its truth? Aren’t we all clamouring for this light, or this idea of a light, that is flickering and conditional? Isn’t this very conditionality that gives meaning and life to this light? Transforming it from something that could be mundane to something exotic, profound and worth fighting for. This possibility of basking in it, or breathing it in at least once in a lifetime. Isn’t that what we all yearn for? 

Well, now I must bid adieu to this calendar year forever. Another bookmark to be buried deep in the pages of our many tales. Farewell 2024, you’ve been kind, and also you’ve tested my patience and strength to its limits. But despite all, I choose to be grateful, for the reinforced lessons, experiences, and guidance. And for the new cycle, I wish I could find the courage to love myself so that I may finally find my light, and forgive myself so that I may not end up being the moron who snuffs it out. And that’s all for the new chapter. Love and forgiveness. Courage and tenderness. Strength and kindness. 

May the force be with us all. 

-Harishna M U

01/01/2025

11.11

Life is something quite arbitrary. No matter how meticulous we are in drafting our scripts, it always finds a way to subvert them, throw us off balance, and often push us into unexpected paths. We start at one place, hoping to get off at another, but life, like the Cheshire cat, smiles at us, all wide and bright (sometimes a bit too bright) and then voila, it's a whole new world for us. And in between, the all too familiar would suddenly become strange. Stories would run out of their charm, poetry would resonate as alien rants, and people would fall apart like broken ice shelfs. But the cycle is renewed nonetheless. For the better of course. After all, that's what hope dictates. And we move on, march ahead, (most of the time, we will be crawling, but still) and continue to persist in search of something new, something old, something familiar, someone like a mirror, someone like us. 

And it all seems so arbitrary at this point.

Maybe like a dance. We were dancing on the same floor, occupying the same space, and yet, every step we took, took us afar. Our paths would have crossed many times before, but perhaps our eyes were then not ready to be locked in a gaze. But now, the threshold's broken with a shared word, a simple greeting, a word that's insanely reassuring in a world so capricious. And here we are. Home. 

But do not think for one second that this is the destination. That this is the end of the line. That it is time to stop and rest. This is where the next stage begins. This is where we resume and further our fight against our own demons. Confront ourselves. This is the next leg of our growth, of our peace. Do not hesitate, nor be afraid. This, too, can be overcome. Remember the dance, the gaze, the word. Remember, the cat is smiling at us. And we won't be alone in this. Ever. 

    - Harishna 

The intimate enemy

There is an enemy, hidden deep within us, buried in our depths, lurking in our shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to surface and strike. This enemy is more like the U-boats from the war, deadly if we are not cautious. If we don't know our way around. And to make things worse, we often mistake this enemy for ourselves, carrying it on our backs, owning it, without seeing it for what it truly is, and most often losing ourselves in the ordeal. This piece is thus about this 'intimate enemy', who lives within us, among us, hidden behind our every thought, word and action, waiting for our guards to come down. Waiting to execute its surgical strike, leaving us and those around wounded and even crippled. 

Before I start, please don't be deceived by the title. This write-up is not about the 'Intimate Enemy' by Ashis Nandy concerning the psychology of colonialism. I shall write about that soon. But this here is about something much closer to our daily human experience, with far-reaching impacts and consequences than colonialism itself. The enemy I am trying to identify here is something that we all know. Yet, it remains elusive to definitions for it is ubiquitous. 

To start this inquiry, I take our emotions to be the first carrier of this enemy. Every emotion that we feel, suppress or express carries its seeds. Now, don't think that this enemy is some form of hate or something that's born in the outside world. It's more like a mischievous or a certain malevolent shade of ourselves. So, how does it manifest in our emotional realm? This surfaces as a faint little voice in the background, like a pull to the opposite side. That at moments of love, this voice will tell us to be possessive, to take control of the love, or it will prick in our past wounds, sending us down the path of self-loathe, doubt and fear. And this voice will only get louder if we start paying attention to it. And then, the love we once felt will be subverted into something loathsome and pitiful. But still, we would think and convince ourselves that we deserved it and it's our fault. While our enemy here slowly withdraws until it finds the next suitable opening to resurface. The same is the case when we feel hopeful, happy, sad, or angry. This 'enemy' of ours would simply amplify the darker shades of our being, making us desperate. And if we pay attention to this other voice in our heads for long, then slowly, this voice will begin to dictate our lived realities. And that's where we most certainly do not want to be. So what's our deterrence here? I think the only pragmatic counter to this is to not feed it our attention. And when the faint voice surfaces, with its preposterous prepositions, we should try and take a deep breath, give ourselves a pat on the back, smile, and move on, experience and handle the moment at hand, because that moment is all we have.  

Another lethal carrier of this enemy is the words we spill so carelessly. To quote Prof. Dumbledore's not-so-humble opinion, words are our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it. Words here create a world of their own every time it is uttered. And yet, it is these words that we so callously blast around so heartlessly, often not seeing who is on the receiving end. Every time our mind minces words to aid us in our communications, this malignant friend within us catches a piggyback ride to the surface. So that now, if we are not cautious of what comes from our mouths, this malignancy can spread to those around us, infecting them, creating chaos and disharmony, and leading to doubt, envy, jealousy, or even hate. Even if we pay attention to what we speak, this enemy attached to our words can be very persuasive. And the cost of our insolence here would always be regrets, guilt and hurt. And sometimes, the damage done by words could be so deep that the wound may never fully recover. But here again, we often fail to see the truth behind the scene and resort to either justifying ourselves or blaming ourselves beyond what is necessary. Leading to more pain and attitudinal unpleasantness in our lives, getting ourselves stuck in a vicious loop. Here again, the question arises, what can be done to prevent this, and what can be done to remedy the wounds caused by our words?. To prevent this, the only way is to be mindful when we speak and to train ourselves to be more kind to ourselves first and then to others. Because there is a child inside everyone who needs to be nurtured and tended to with love. And to remedy the wounds, there too, the only way is to offer an honest apology, own one's fault, resolving not to repeat it again. And then give time for the word here to do its magic. 

This enemy here is intimate because it is a part of our own self. It is subtle in its manifestations and yet potent in its capacities. We can't ever do away with this intimate enemy of ours. But I do believe that we can learn to manage its influence upon us. Through the little steps, a thoughtful pause here, or a reflective silence there, we can try to blunt our nefarious friend's fangs before it spews its venom. And we can learn to appreciate the beauty of our perfect little weaknesses, which allows us to connect with and feel the others around us. This weakness could be a heartful expression of sorry, no matter whether we are right or wrong, our choice to forgive the other or ourselves, or our decision to give ourselves a second chance or to move on. It is these graceful weaknesses that allow us to live here. These petite 'failings' of us act as our first line of defence against the onslaught of this intimate enemy of ours... I think I'll pause here. 

- Harishna 

PS: Here's a prayer to remember. 

I am sorry,

please forgive me,

thank you,

I love you. 

New Year Ruminations

Dear ones...

We are at that time of the year when we look back and look forth at the same time. Like the Roman God Janus. Looking into the end of one and the beginning of another. As our dear beloved earth completes another orbit around the sun, we find ourselves placed at the crossroads of time. And as always, we are presented with this "moment" to reflect upon the journey we have had and to choose the relative direction of the journey we are about to begin. 

A few hours back, when I slipped into memory lane and boarded the way back machine into the archives of 2021, despite being a largely sedentary year, I saw it to be quite overwhelming. Exciting and lovely in many ways, yet overwhelming in many other ways. And that's when a wise young monkey reminded me that now and then we humans need to be rewired. Yup, sometimes we need to rewire and upgrade our circuits to make sure that they are not burnt out, damaged or gone missing. So that when things get overwhelming we don't experience a short circuit. And occasions like the new year present us with this opportunity to check and recheck our connections, assess our weak points and rewire if necessary. 

Ever since the pandemic began, it has been a tough ride. We have lost many on the way, friends, family and loved ones... We were pushed to our limits quite often. Some broke down, some held their grounds till the last moment, some chose to quit while many held on, clinging on to any shard of hope they could find, or even making shards of hope in the process as small steps forth, never losing sight of the future and its possibilities even if the vision gets blurred or even dark sometimes. 

I want to tell you all that despite the darkness that we had to confront on this road (often ourselves) we have all been the reason for someone else's happiness at some point. Our action might have been the reason why someone chose not to quit, not to break apart and not to shun life. Our words, at least a random word of kindness, of concern, would have given someone reason to have faith in themselves and others. I think that's a win for us. I think this is one elemental choice that life offers us. It's very simple in its design. And when we feel overwhelmed, I think it's okay to be overwhelmed once in a while. It could be life reminding us to rewire, change the connections and move on. 

And here comes the tricky part. To choose to move on if the connection is either irreparable, faulty or even dangerous to the whole circuit. And this is where many of us get stuck every year, during this annual, almost 'ritualistic' review process. When we find ourselves unable to let go (I know it's a cliche, but letting go remains the major theme) of memories, people, moments and all. Often, despite knowing for a fact that this could be toxic to ourselves. And most of the time we hold on because of a promise made aeons back, or for vengeance or love (the worst of all reasons). And we forget to live as we carry forward these debts from yesterday to the promise of the future. And we get old by the weight of it and we die many times before our time. 

I don't write this for anyone who's reading this. Rather I write, and I keep on writing to remind myself of this. So that I might not lose sight of the life in front of me. So that even if my eyes get clouded, I'll be able to find my way back home. 

2021 was gracious in many ways for me. Joined for M.Phil, started work with an amazing team of young and vibrant minds at Indic Law, met some beautiful 'harmonious' souls, got to spend some blissfully cherished evenings, got my own bicycle, and yes, though my dearest Grandmother passed away, I know that she's part of the eternity now and is at peace... 

And I am thankful to all of you. Of the many who remembered me, of the many who chose to be kind, who showed concern, who drew me closer and held my hands, assuring that life continues. I am grateful to you, all those who came closer and all those who drifted afar (also to the people in transit... thank you). And forgive me for my wrongs. I'll try to be a better human this year. 

And my dear friends, the world is pretty much the same as it was in 2021. But let's remind and be reminded that this will pass and all we can do is to be patient, sane and resilient. To give help if possible, to seek help if needed. That's how we live. 

May this new year bring to you the love that you have always wanted. The love that you deserve. May this new year help you find the strength to disconnect from the connections that drain you. May this new year grant you the health that you need the most. May we all be given a chance to start afresh. To renew ourselves for the better.

Wishing you all a very happy new year... 

Love ❤️  

Harishna  

The Key

As I write this, I remember the story of a man who remains imprisoned despite holding in his hands the very key that could open the gates and set him free. Ironic, isn't it? To have the means and to know the way and yet remain idle, immobile, impotent and in the dark. Unable to just simply twist the key, open the door and walk out free, without the weight of anything burdening the head and the heart. 

*********

The days have been difficult recently. If it was the tussle between the proverbial wolves that dominated the show until now, it seems that the wolves were pushed into the background, and a new player has revealed itself. I would call it the empty. Except it is all but empty. I think it's more like the giant carpet under which we push stuff into. It's the junkyard and vault of our psyche. It's that one place that is cleverly kept hidden from our sights and often even from our memory. But once the empty is awakened, then it slowly begins to churn and rot. The whole sky gets dark by the dust and smoke. The vision gets blurry, and slowly it's blindfolded that now even the brightest of colours appear dull and lifeless. Then toxins begin to seep into the body. The senses now work against themselves. And this goes on until the empty consume everything. 

*********

But I am not writing this here, now, to speak of the empty or its horrors. I write this because I want to remember the light that I saw when I was in a dark place, helpless and tired like the man with the key. Because I want to thank those specks of light that gave me the spark to push myself up again. This is about the incarnations of God who came to me today. This is about the children. Here is my prayer of gratitude to them for their kindness, compassion, innocence, lessons and love. Their presence helped clear the dark sky and loosen the blindfold, helping me see the key that I hold firm in my hands. Reminding me of the possibility of opening the door and walking out. All that's left for me to do is to find the courage and muster the strength to let life and love flow freely and happen as it's supposed to at their own pace and time. To let the bulwarks crumble under the gentle nudge of compassion and to let the toxins drain away with a little patience and a touch of kindness. And to become a child and to tell me, it's okay... 

********* 

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you yet they belong not to you... 

You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. 

                                                                               

                                                                  - The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

 

After life and something else

I have been contemplating death for some time now. It's not that I am seeking any answers or asking any questions. But this contemplation could perhaps be the reflection of what my mind is trying to perceive. To make sense of the world that happens around us. After all, that's why we have our blissfully lost minds, right? To try and make sense. 

So, now I wonder, what is death, or precisely, when is death? When does it occur? Is it the decay and destruction of the body, or does one die with the passage of the soul? Is death a process, or is it the end? Or is it the maturity of an investment that we make when we are born? Death, I think, is oblivion. That, one truly dies only when the memory of them ceases to exist. I think this is why the ancients erected temples, tombs and edifices with their names carved on stone. This might be the reason why many cultures worshipped/s their ancestors. I think this was their attempt at immortality. So that as long as their names are spoken, through the many stories, songs, myths, legends and lores, they will be remembered, and they shall never truly die. 

And, would it be too much to think that we are kept alive by the stories we tell and the myths we share and we live as long as there are people to tell these stories and as long as there are people to remember them. And as these stories are told, in between the pauses, the breath or the sigh, the lament or glory, hope or despair, we arouse to experience life and savour its nuances. A moment to reflect before we carry on and get carried away by the stories. Like a bookmark, these moments add subtle flavour and meaning to the way we live. And in the end, these are the milestones that remind us of our journey, even if the stories are lost in the depths of memory, before fading into limbo. 

But, I think the cyber age has made us immortal in ways even God couldn't have imagined. Now, with our lives all online, between zeros and ones, all our 'stories' are posted, shared and archived. Captured, like a screenshot, the human experience is now uploaded to a cloud. Leaving pyramids and parchments all obsolete. Now the human does not have to remember, for it is remembered for him. I think I'll be immortal thus. Because, my words will from this moment on, be made a part of the skies, etched in 'clouds' all around the planet. I'll be downloaded as I'll be uploaded. And I'll be remembered by this machine, maybe until machines are all that's left. 

Littoral Dreams

One evening, I was walking down the shore. The skies wore an ethereal blend of colours. It was dark, but not night yet. Clouds were carrying the seeds of rain and also the night. These clouds were bordered by the silver lining of the sun in some places, and somewhere else, the same sun was painted over with crimson, orange, yellow, and purplish hue. And as I continued my stroll alone, I saw something shining in the distance, in the sea. Curious, I stopped and started following the shining that now is slowly being carried to the shore by those many crashing waves. To my surprise, it was like the object was being carefully held and brought by the waves. As if the waves were deliberate in ensuring its safe delivery. Like with an infant, it was passed cautiously from one wave to another. And as I slowly walked into the tide to get a closer look, I saw it was a bottle.

It's getting dark now, and though it's a full-moon night, the moon hides behind her cloudy veil. I had to get back to my room, and as I started wading my way back to the shore, hoping to catch a glimpse of her in the sky, for a moment, I felt like my legs were being dragged back into the sea. And there I fell when the next wave shoved me to the beach like I was some hollow raft. Except, now my hands were holding onto something. It was that strange shining bottle!

I stood up and studied the thing closely in my hand. A bit unnerved and excited at the same time. There, I saw a face painted on the neck of the bottle, and it was of an angelic, beautiful young girl. And there was a piece of paper inside, neatly scrolled like her elegant locks of hair. As I carefully took it out, it read, "Look nigher and you shall find". Perplexed, I looked to the ocean itself for what it could mean. What strange fantasy would have dreamt of this moment? Thoughts flashed in my mind like those millions of drops that have begun to drizzle. It was then I saw something else attached to the bottle.

It was an Oyster. And as I slowly opened the shell, I found the most beautiful of all sights my eyes have ever seen. It was a Pearl as pure as starlight. And as I took that Pearl to my hand, there came a sudden burst of light from the dark skies. It was the moon in her brightest, and she revealed herself from the cloudy veils of the night to me. At that instant I saw, the shining of the Pearl and of the moon to be the same as if my moon has hidden her spirit in this oyster shell for me to find. For now, she is closer to me than ever. And standing there, with the pearl and her form in my hands, holding it close to my heart and drenched in moonlight, I melted away, to be the one with her.

-Harishna

(10/07/2021)

The Residual Love

Yesterday night, the daily dose of discussion was about waste. Yes, the different types of trash that we generate and come across in our day-to-day living. While some are physical and can be removed or cleaned off easily, some remain like indelible stains. Some wastes are psychological. They cling to our souls, only to pester us emotionally, polluting our minds, robbing us of our dear precious life force and peace. Now, these 'internal wastes' are quite tricky to remove as we usually fail to notice them in the first place. Often we take these 'malicious bloatwares' to be part of the genuine package and thence begins the trouble. Nevertheless, the thought shared here is about what remains after love. Of all the different varieties of waste that we carry, this is perhaps the most ubiquitous and even diabolical. 

We know what happens to those giant stars once they run out of fuel to burn. If they were big enough, these stars would get crushed by their own 'self' to become an object of unimaginable density. It would even end up becoming a black hole from which even light can't escape. Or from another example, think about our nuclear power plants. They generate much-needed electricity by splitting an atom. But, after a while, the nuclear fuel ends up being radioactive waste which will burn on itself, emitting deadly radiation to the world around for many decades to come.

Now, think about love. Not just romantic, amorous love but all kinds of love that we feel towards the other, be it a human, an animal, or something else entirely. Imagine the love that we feel constantly during our lives. The needs and desires to love and be loved. Try to see the many forms it has taken and all its myriad manifestations. Try to see all the emotions that we have had to bear associated with this idea of love, all that pain, confusion, and chaos. 

Here, I do not intend to write about the glory of love. Nor am I going to demonize and discredit the experiences and expression of love. Here, the attempt is to look into and try to make sense out of the idea of ‘residual love’. The love that remains and lingers on even after its glory days. The leftover pieces remain even long after the core has burnt out. It’s about the idea of ‘after love'. What happens to love in the end? Does it collapse unto itself like a dying star? Or would it continue to burn like the radioactive residues from a nuclear reaction? And what happens to those living with these decaying residues of love? Again, my intention is not to find any answers but rather to ask these questions themselves. 

Love is perhaps the most potent force in the universe (though some physicists might disagree). It binds and breaks at the same time as if it is the point of convergence, where both chaos and order find balance in the universe. Simply, love is the light that brings us vision, but the same light also holds the possibility of leaving us blind. So, the idea here is that the experience of love holds the possibilities of both beauty and terror at the same time, and if one does not navigate through this ocean with caution, he/she is bound to fall into the abyss. So, am I suggesting that one needs to be cautious, logical, and calculating while experiencing love? Not at all. Love is an experience of Chance, a beauty of Chance even. For love to bloom and spread its fragrance, it needs to be left alone, independent, and certainly out of our cunning, calculating minds. But what happens when love burns out of its fuel. What happens when the flower of love begins to rot instead of bloom and what happens to its fragrance? What happens when the idea of love itself causes sheer terror and fear in one’s heart? What happens to love and the lover, when it becomes reduced to waste, a dead weight in one’s soul that cripples them. I think this is what residual love is. And this is where most of us live today. Unfortunately!

The stink of residual love takes many forms. It is the fear of losing the ones we love or of losing love itself. It's anger too, and so is grief, lust, anguish, dependence, and on and on. This is when our feeling of love disrupts, clogs, and reeks our natural flow of life. This is where we are uneasy, constantly in fear, and gripped by insecurities. If love makes one feel like a prisoner, being constrained, sans confidence or independence, then that can only be a love that is barren and wasted. Residual love. And someone living in this place, holding on to this residual love, can only collapse in the end, like a dying star, drained out of all their vitality, joy, and love. 

Now, what is the way out? How can one identify and filter out the residual love from their system and restore the flow of life? I think this begins with a simple act of immense valour, in carving out a sacred space for oneself. This does not mean that one should retreat to a shell and remain isolated and insulated from the rest of the world. Instead, it is an act of self-respect. It’s about knowing and drawing boundaries, making sure there is enough room for the river of love to flow through our ‘life stream’ without drowning us. It’s also like pruning our gardens, making sure weeds are removed and each plant could grow together but in its own space. It is also about finding the courage to accept failures, setbacks, and seek and deliver forgiveness and move on. Brute force, strict discipline, or sheer willpower will not help one in cleaning and clearing residual love. It will also take compassion, mercy, and pity as the vanguard. 

All love stories begin with promises of eternal bliss. Love stories often are portrayed as burning bright with passion. But, none speaks of the residual love or the after love. We speak of an afterlife and even curate our lives accordingly to get the best possible afterlife experience. But, I think it’s time we started thinking about after love too. How do we navigate through love when it starts to lose its glitter? How do we learn to share the spark without extinguishing the other? And, how do we move on when it finally ends. I believe the journey to authentic love from the clutter of residual love begins with these simple questions. And we shall live, to learn its answers. And we shall love to earn the answers.  

She was serene, like a cool breeze,

and revealed herself to be the spirit of the moon.

She reflected the essence of the sun

through her light. 

She had no claims, and she owned nothing.

Yet, night and day belonged to her. 

She was the gentle reminder, 

that there is light even in darkness. 

She was the mirror, that revealed the sun,

and hers was the spark that ignited him. 

-Harishna

Tonight I write about Love...

Tonight I write about love, a subject of which I know only so little. Now, why should I be writing about something that I do not know? Well, I think it's a reflective action. I am only trying to understand it by letting out all the known and unknown elements in my heart. Maybe unburdening my heart from all that is "known" about it.  And thus, in the process, I hope to "remember" a thing or two about it. About this phenomenon called love. So, this is why I am embarking upon this perplexing task tonight. Standing on the mast, I become the novice dreaming about the capricious seas and the journey that lies forth. And my heart, intrigued by the mysteries beating within hers. Here I take the plunge into the depths, not knowing where the currents would lead to or what I would find in the deep. Here's the first step into the soul of love, and that is the leap of faith. After all, isn't love the starting point of all adventures? 

Looking around, I see many forms and types of love. It's even a commodity today, something that has been transformed into quantifiable "data" of preferability or likeness, dictated into the lives of millions by omnipresent algorithms run by omnipotent tech "giants". It's like the children playing with clay moulds, giving a different form, name, meaning and purpose every time they play with it, trying to present a replica of their own imaginations. And here I believe arises the central problem. 

What happens when what is eternal is contained in the parenthesis of the ephemeral? How can it be reduced to any rationale of human minds or to its imaginations? Isn't love a marvel of chance? A cosmic force of unity, perhaps? And what happens to it when it becomes contractual, binding or even blinding? And what happens to that impulsive seed within each and every one of us, the seed that makes us take that leap of faith in the first place, the seed that gives us roots so that we can brave the storms, the roots that connect one to the other, the seed that compels us to confront our own self in the face of love. And what happens to that one seed which holds love within us? Which awaits its moment to sprout, to grow, to flower... 

May the love guide us all,
may love alone show us our path... 

The flowers blooming in me

My dear friend,

Today I was asked to reflect on this title. To speak about the flowers blooming in me. And I was at a loss, and I found it difficult to see any flowers blooming in me, except for some creepers and vines perhaps. 

The pandemic has, without a doubt, changed our world, the human world, by redefining how we have lived or conducted ourselves till now. And when I write of the world, it is about the many lives around us, among us, and even within us. It speaks about all the lives that have been transformed in one way or the other, in all possible imaginable and unimaginable ways. It's about all the loved ones lost, lives abandoned and dreams orphaned. It's the insensitivities of a world and its machinery that finds humans expendable. It's about a world that went "truly online" and found itself trapped in its snare. And here I sit with my laptop, wondering what flowers bloom in me!

When we hear about flowers, the word is usually accompanied by the many colours and fragrances that come rushing into our minds, often as a pleasant feeling or a refreshing memory. But, are flowers only about their colours or fragrances? What about the many flowers that grow along the road, in the cracks and crevices, those with a pungent odour or those that don't smell at all? What about those wild unruly ones that so boldly defy the limits of our curated gardens? And so, I am asking myself about those many flowers blooming in me. Hoping to find the "nature" of my garden!

On looking closer into the creepers and vines that blocked my vision, I saw a clearing beyond. And, as I walked closer, there I saw a garden with all the fragrances of the world. And I thought this must be it. That these could be the very flowers blooming in me, that this is my beauty, real and true. Enchanted, I began strolling through the rows adorned with different colours. But, the more I walked closer to it, the more incredulous I became as if something was amiss. And I walked forth, to the other side of this garden which too had many flowers, only that neither its colours appealed to my heart nor it had any enchanting fragrance to draw me to it. And once I looked down, I saw the many creepers and wildflowers spread across the garden floor. Like a network, they had their roots spread firmly into the soil, and I saw that it was them who held the "orderly" garden in its place. And, I saw them only when I looked down to the Earth, away from the dazzling colours or colourlessness, away from the many scents or reek. To my surprise, these two too made my garden, and it was not the beauty alone!

Now, looking at the flowers blooming in me, I can see them all three together. That it is these contrasts that make my garden real and alive. That the aroma and reek come from the same place. That I hold them all within me and altogether it makes me whole. The garden is my heart, the place I least visit. The garden is my mirror, which reflects my beauty and terror. And by accepting its ways, I choose harmony. And that's how we remind ourselves to hold on until the clouds part, to persevere until the dawn comes. And that's how we live through these trying times. 

My dear friend, I wish you love.