Sea of pain

Sea of Pain 1

After calculating the hours that would take me to reach Kochi from Goa, I realized I would not be able to take that big a chunk of time from my trip home. Sighing away, with my insides twisting with an unknown pain, I started sketching away, then turned to look at the pictures and videos of the one installation that I wanted to see, to experience and to sink in deep within me, in this year’s Kochi-Muziris Biennale.

I closed my eyes. I could see myself standing underneath one of the huge canvas boards on the wall. I could listen to the sound of water, of legs wading, of people whispering, of the conflicts within minds. I could see the crashing waves, washing in bodies, of Aylan, of Galip. I could see the sea swallowing many more unknown faces, unknown hearts that beat for a better future. I could feel the pain in the water that washed my legs. I could feel the sea.

“The sea of pain.
For Galip Kurdi

Alan Kurdi was three and his photograph circled the world.

He lay face down and the blue red of his clothes was striking
in its strange tidiness on the shore. Hours later the Turkish
coast guards recuperated the bodies of his mother and small
Five-year old brother, Galip, but of him there are no photographs.
….

… I wasn’t there,
I am not his father.
There are no photographs of Galip Kurdi, he can’t hear, he can’t see, he can’t feel, and the silence comes down like immense white cloths.
Below the silence you can make out a piece of sea, of the sea of pain.
I am not his father, but Galip Kurdi is my son. ”

The words of the poet.

The sea of pain.

Something startled me awake. And I watched the waves that kept on crashing in and out. The sun setting in the horizon. The stars starting to shine,and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if the stars would have been the last thing they saw when they drowned. The stars and the sea. Depths of blue. Grasping for a hand to save. Shouting for help. The blue shutting it all out. The life ebbing away from their eyes, to the depths of the dark. Their bodies washing in, to a rising sun and a rising world.

Millions of hearts still cry for help.
And a few hearts still cry for them.

Please, hold on, at the end of the day, the dark clouds shall move away, and the stars will shine. The stars, will shine.
Please.
Hold on.

-This is for Syria, Palestine, Myanmar and many more across the world, who have lost and still lose their lives at the hands of politics, power and greed.

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Mom

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Contrary to the fact of me being her child, she is someone whom I have seen growing up. As a mother, as a human being. My first role model.

There are times, when I look at her, wondering how she never gets tired of us (and we are quite a handful, in varying age groups). I have asked her numerous times, how she does this raising up thing so effortlessly, with so much patience. “I will never get tired of this. I love it. Being a mother.” She replies with a smile.

I have seen her endure and battle odds. I have seen her breaking down. I have seen her being there for us. I have seen her sacrifice things. And each and every time, I realize I can never do what she has done when my time comes. I can never do better than her. Because she is a woman, who I feel, has never had the happiness of enjoying the little things in life, never been made feel special, yet has showered us with love and taught us the same, making us feel special all along.

Mamma, I hope this makes you feel special.
Mamma, you are an inevitable part of our lives. There are still days when I start crying in the middle of the night because I miss you.
We love you, Mamma.
You are our first love.

P.S. She looks so much more beautiful than this.
#BecauseSheMeansTheWorldAndMoreToUs
#AlhamdulillahForParents
#FirstAttemptAtVerticalLinePortraits