 |
| Hema Ravi |
Broken
Rhythms (Poem)
“Wee
Willy Winkie runs through the town –
Upstairs
and downstairs, in his nightgown…”
Once, cosy
cottages and verdant spaces
relentlessly
revealed nature’s myriad hues.
Now, high
rises, roof top gardens, swimming pools
and
large glass windows offer stunning views.
“Tapping
at the window, crying through the lock –
Are the
children in their beds for it's now eight o' clock.”
Why
aren’t today’s children in their beds at bedtime?
Rigid
school routines, reduced daylight activities,
artificial
lights from gadgets and loud noises disrupt
children’s
circadian rhythms… Adults’ too!
Resultant
fatigue, headaches, irritability,
reduced
agility, and increased debility –
not a “Wee
Willy Winkie,” but a ‘Go to bed’ reminder
and ‘Wake
up alarm’ every day serves as factfinder
to
soothe the mind and keep the midnight ghosts away.
Regular
sleep routines enhance daytime interactions…
Second Life…(Prose)
A season of contradictions…
Freezing air leaks from the Polar Vortex had
brought along ‘early chills’ across most countries in the Northern hemisphere,
well before the winter solstice. Owing
to increased smog, days continued to be warm.
The fl├вneuse wandered through the
maze of high-rises and glass towers, her slow rhythmic steps contrasted the city
folks’ hasty strides. The old-world charm – the quaint names, the stony
buildings and winding streets remained, some patches of verdant green were
still visible.
The continuous drone of air conditioners
from the modern mansions made her ponder about people’s dependency on gadgets.
She recalled how she and her friends had spent summer afternoons within the
precincts of the old brick library, which boasted of high ceilings and cool
interiors.
Her mind’s eye recalled the shady boughs
and fruit-laden orchards, the parks where they had spent endless hours without stress
or worry. They plucked and ate juicy fruits, chased squirrels
that scampered up and down as they carried fruit into hollows atop the high
branches.
With unhurried steps, she walked up to the
sculpture-garden that her maternal uncle had painstakingly built decades ago
using recycled items - broken tiles, pieces of pottery, electrical fixtures and
other materials, which others had dismissed ‘kooda-karkat.’(rubbish)
For uncle, the broken bangles, pieces of glass
and cracked porcelain were objects of beauty waiting to be exhibited. His ‘garden,’ once regarded as a ‘living
monument’ to sustainability, now seemed to be facing challenges, which increased
urbanization had brought along. A
section of the garden was destroyed; several trees had been felled to widen
roads and increase parking facilities for the public.
Earth-shattering honks and roars of the
passing vehicles disturbed her senses.
On her way to the artificial lake close to
the garden, she passed by a modern swimming pool in the lawn of a glass mansion.
A young boy jumped and splashed about in the sparkling water. Although her eyes enjoyed it, she did not
miss the hardened cement in polythene bags, discarded pipes and debris that lay
forgotten in a far corner.
Her beautiful kohl-lit eyes turned moist
when she saw the vast reservoir polluted with plastic bottles and covers.
A security guard sat in a corner,
unmindful of the passersby.
She stood there in deep contemplation
until streaks of orange, violet and pink began to cast a spell atop the dark
waters.
Paddlers were returning the colourful boats
at the docks. She grimaced at the sight
of pot-bellied men walking on the cobbled path zombie-like, with ears plugged, oblivious
to the celestial drama unfolding in front of their eyes. Keeping pace with them
were garishly dressed women engaged in loud conversations.
A tiny smile escaped her lips when she
spotted a few lensmen hunched over tripods, continuously clicking pictures of
the golden hour. Her sharp gaze did not
miss a young photographer’s burst shots as a large squirrel hurriedly disappeared
into the hollow of the tree.
Before long, the golden rays would give
way to the thick smog. As she walked on towards the guest house, she gazed at
the wall of broken bangles shimmering in red, blue, and amber.
The walk was quite a revelation; she had
gathered sufficient evidence to recognize the frailty of human behaviour in the
city’s shrinking spaces and unpredictable climes.
A sudden gust brought along a discarded
soda can right up to her feet. She stopped
and picked it up.
Everything has a second life; she smiled as she walked on…
The poem and the prose - both very nice and impactful, dear Hema. Superb write, as always!
ReplyDelete