Gnana Selvam

When Are We?

One has to lose oneself to find self. Maybe to time, sometimes to the wilderness. Wilderness, within and without. Steering struggled to keep up with the turns, with every turn it panted. Dust clouds kept a safe distance from the tires. Thorny bushes embraced the windows and kissed it. Shied away, closed the windows itself. Shrouded by flora, the snaky path leads to the unpredictable. Surprise! Eyes wide awake trying to register, record and remember everything thrown at it mercilessly, barely coping. Welcome! A pause, a cup of tea and a bridge that lead to nowhere. Sorry, my bad. A pause, a cup of tea and a bridge that lead to nowhere. Metal creaked with every footstep. I replied; hello how do you do; I’m good too. A vast expanse painted, and the edge was the horizon. Orange floated above ochre and red beneath it. Blue and black waited calmly for their turn. A boat stood in the solitude. Waves splashed beneath it. It stood unmoved; perhaps it was waiting. Or maybe it was breathing. Ripples emanated with every breath it took. Blip. Blop. I made myself comfortable on the rubble of the unapologetic bridge. Roots started to sprout, anchoring me to the bridge and what lay ahead.

I split into two. One decided to sit and breathe; the other flew with the rest. The bus flew on the contours. In no time, we were with remainders of the past seeping into the present. Hopefully into the future as well. Tapestry after tapestry, walls flooded with stories from the past. Mythos permeated the people and their narratives. Intricacy was a virtue to them and art, a way of living. Outdoors, Ravana stood with his ten heads, intact. Perhaps the great war for retrieval of woman hasn’t broken out yet. Where am I in the stream of time? Is it the past, before the war? Or is it the future, beyond good and evil? Where Ravana, is more than a demon king, perhaps a scholar, or a musician? A part of me decided to sit with Ravana and inquire him about the time. O, Ravana when are we?

A massive flight of stairs was presented — a deliberate but fruitful climb. God manifested herself in various forms. It’s a sin to choose between God’s creations, but I’m a sinner. So, it should be alright, I think. Firstly, the Pyramid! Souls rushed to be a part of it. To be relevant, responsible functionaries of the pyramidical society. What became of that? Pyramid solidified further with every soul that rushed towards it. Solid with no room for change. Souls crawled and clawed on the edifice. Secondly, all the strings attached. A being floated in the virtual placenta. The strings kept it safe from movements. They were protecting it from the self and the world. Ignorance is strength; slavery is freedom. I split into three. One crawled back into the virtual placenta, embracing the digital slumber —one embedded itself into the Pyramid, slithering on its edifice. One came back.