The Cave People

They are people living in the dark. They have their rituals perfected to spread the darkness. If you scrutinize you may be baffled that these exist in contemporary world and will be tempted to dismiss these as children’s play or some elaborate juvenile deception. For cave people though these define their meanings of life and connection to the primitive cavernous depth of the cave. Centuries of dead habits and horrendous practices putrefy and waft from the deeper part of the cave that is considered sacred.  They cement these experiences through stories of faith and myths of grandeur. They come out of their caves dressed up as if for daily chores. They look normal and bear self satisfied smug, you wouldn’t be able to tell that they are cave dwellers. They share same mindset, express similar opinion and live an orchestrated way of life as if an invisible thread connects them and binds them to deep recess of the cave. Wherever they are placed they assiduously present template of cave with them so as to replicate it. They are herds that swarm out only to further their cave values that they ardently hold as being threatened by daylight hence seek protection.

Cave people are sensitive to light despite this they bravely venture to protect and spread their world. They carry the blue print of cave in ornate casket and try to sell to passerby while elaborating the virtues of cave values and savior spirit that protects them. While they eke in their caves holding to their cavely ways the world outside change tremendously. They partook in these comforts as matter of good fortune especially ordained for their well being by savior spirit meanwhile made sure to humbly elaborate miracles of cave traditions that made these possible. “Without the savior spirit that lives in the depths of caves not even a leaf can move”. They set out to eulogize cave tradition, wrote compelling narrations of cave culture, and sometimes if they felt specially threatened by rationale of modern world that point to the crude absurd self defeating ways of cave they zealously place themselves as special reference for multiculture.      

They wear impeccable outfits to fit in, and are very diligent about their diet and adept in interaction. They have worked language to its possible advantage without ever having understood the meaning, indeed ever be bothered. Every occasion is an occasion to sing paeans for cave culture and omnipotence of savior spirit. They pursue higher studies in modern institutions just to evaluate the possibility to fit in the cave template to contemporary setting so as to appropriate into cave tradition. They use modern gadgets with dexterity as if these were miracles meant to enhance their expressions. Lack of awareness makes them immune to hypocrisy while usage of words devoid of meanings reduces the hassles of critical thinking. They swarm as trolls in social media to elaborate on regressive ways of cave as unique expressions of modernity. Any sane scrutiny of these absurd claims triggers a swarm assault with cave dwellers emerging from darkest corners of deep net with spears and clubs shaped as words. Like hooligans they set about to destroy the premise of sane argument, stamping on facts, any logical extension of ideas, and sneak in bizarre assumptions based on equally wacky premise. They claim their benign savior spirit already knew everything that is there to know or to discuss or explore. Every reason therefore is the reason to humbly acknowledge the grand nature of savior spirit. We have to just believe in the words of savior spirit who once lived in the cave. It is all written in miracle codes kept safe in depths of cave. Cave people have their heroes and martyrs who furiously fought for centuries against daylight ever reaching the cave. There are now new age soldiers equipped with latest gadgets and wherewithal ready to take on the enemies of cave culture and keep the putrefying traditions safe. Sometimes during the storm when there is power failure they come out in large numbers to announce to the passerby that it is the end of the world. The world needs to repent their sin. Accept cave tradition and believe in the cave truth that has settled all question for eternity. During natural disasters and suffering they see signs of good omen and opportune occasion to elaborate the need to stop questioning the will of savior spirit. During the bleakest hours of humanity they celebrate the arrival of savior spirit.             

 

 

An evening prayer

The intonation gets deeper and louder as if spreading a circle of warmth. Soon it reaches crescendo and beats in the rhythm of the earth as if amplifying all life in its inhale and exhale. The life giving quotidian cycle. It quietens in its own echo, shortening and then the silence. The stage is set for the sun to light the western sky in its quirky brilliance. White Ibis emerge from the lit clouds to row back to her nest. The sky arranges colors to finally extinguish into grey. There is a meditative quality to the moment. The quaintness of the occasion seems to spread all across as every life form pause to relapse. There is an acknowledgment of an end, a loss that is felt with ebbing sun. The trees are still. The clouds are still. Waves intonate the deeper silence of the ocean in its churning lulling regularity. The world stills for the evening prayer. Prayers that articulate myriad language of silence. Tirelessly work to give appropriate form to this tranquil moment. Nature rarely fails to convey the subtle. There is an understated gloriousness in her expressions. Deeper meaning is for the witness. This moment that is alive to live, though aloof as eternal, is contingent to the response of each life to its situation. This moment, when all is serene and quiet, presents quantum possibilities to each life that capsulate billions of years of endeavor –from the absurdness of singularity to sharing atoms precariously perched on a spinning blue dot and all the struggles to assimilate and survive in the pre-cambrian soup, shifting continents, permian volcanoes, bombarding asteroids and bloodthirsty predators. To be finally present in this moment in time. This presence is a miracle. From the dark crevice coucal’s call resonate the scene in cascading boom as a final fanfare to the setting sun.        

The swaying coconut tree

Wind picks up pace by late evening, the forecast were dire, by night the gust whistled through the windows. The waning gibbous moon lit the dark clouds in grey that provide the background for the lamenting coconut tree. It swung its fronds here and there like someone in great distress. A moment the leathery leafs arranges on one side of the crown against the relentless wind the next moment it is splattered haywire as the wind decide to angle the other way or that the tree has swung to its extreme and ricochets in its momentum. The tree reacts to every move of the gust. It is precise in its calibrations so as to not allow itself snap. It is in a tango with the storm. It thrives acutely attuning to the surrounding and sets to work with awareness of natural forces and limitation it places. He though wasn’t conscious of the tribulation of the tree nor cared for the forces that work. The coconut yield is low, there is no value for the wood either unlike acacia or teak, isn’t it better to hack it off. The thrashing tree was like an angry demon bringing bad omen. Against the grey sky it sways like foreboding calamity. The sky was getting angrier these days. When it rained it poured without any intermittence for hours. The rivers were constantly breaching and claiming the bank while the oceans batter the coast with plastics and dead fishes. He knew gods where angry. People don’t follow rituals precisely these days. They have lost purity to deal. Only pure souls can understand the will of the god and lament for the sin. There are procedures prescribed to satiate the god and bring peace to the world. He knew what to do. He will have to build a shrine to atone the sins of humanity. Only he could appease the god. Only he knew how to appease the god. Enough of donating to religions and old sites that have lost their aura. The world needs fresh energy and optimism. People must congregate to pray that will spread positive energy. More people in the congregation more potent their pray. The world needs doers not thinkers, men of action who can exploit resources, create jobs, better the economy and win elections and contracts. Greater the economy more the money generated and therefore more power. A great nation needs to be powerful. A powerful nation needs blessing. He couldn’t wait for the sun to rise. It was a damp morning with trees drenched in overnight rain. Babblers rake wet sticky leaves on the ground to pluck stranded caterpillars. He set out to hack the coconut tree. The tree was useless the site was auspicious, and he knew the use of land. Land was a like a mother that provides for her children. Mother earth needs shrine. He will make a big shrine. The shrine should be grand. It must awe the people into submission to god’s will. It must make them believe in miracles. The world needs believers of miracle. He was the miracle creator. He was chosen, and knew deep inside him of his true calling as the servant of the god and virtuous guide to people. Not many are such fortunate. He set about to make grand plans for the shrine. The wide palm canopy and its arrangement of fronds is home to treepie and her hungry chicks, they sigh in relief having survived the storm. The tree was strong but resilient. The tree will protect them.                  

 

 Dead Bird Don't Lie

The dead bird had its eyes gouged out by ants. It lay in the bush next to the pavement. The ants streamed out like red tears, happy and satisfied. We were out on a walk. He was the first one to point out the bird. “It’s a jungle myna” he said. We examined the bird so as to get some clue regarding its demise. It seems the bird died of starvation, maybe it refused to eat. The white patches on the base of its primaries were exposed and sodden yellow with mud from overnight rain. There were too many dead birds that we see on our walks. In the beginning we didn’t think much of it. It was when she shows apprehension that I too became aware of it. Is it just the birds? I am seeing too many dead insects. They gather in great numbers, disoriented by the street lights and bright windows, next morning I see them motionless and dying of exhaustion. Insects carry no emotion, atleast I am not able to decipher; they bear the same expression of delight all the while as if dying was matter of delightful inconvenience. They are not even baffled. Sometime I pick them up to see any change of expression. It is the same appearance of gaiety on each insect. The moths, the beetles, the lacewings all seem to mock at my intrigue or maybe I am too self centered to read their intent. I sometimes get nightmares of laughing insects that comes out of dead as if it was just an act of deception. This nonchalance towards death angers me at times but I feel helpless. The moment I start seeing dead I see more dead. It is as if I was being attuned into vicious reality like you focus on a voice in the crowd and you hear it loud and clear over the ruckus. It though is not the right comparison I feel; it’s not the voice in the crowd it is the scream of utter desperation that one is habituated to look away, despite jostling crowd a great widening vacuum surrounds the person, and if you were ever to look at his way you would be sucked into a vortex of horror. When I walk away it brings great sadness of never able to fully understand myself. There are some parts of us we want to avoid, and the desolate man in the crowd opens up a mightier desolation in us. It’s on the horizon still we ignore the tell tale signs of things going wrong. The fishes plop up dead one morning along the lake as if conspired to kill themselves from some unknown agony. With every death I too die a little. Parts of my flesh detach and shape like a bird and fly away.  I bend down to put my ear on the earth, maybe I could hear something. Some say earth speaks. I am unaware of the language but I try. There is meaning for all of us if only we could listen.