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This man….
This man made a choice….
He went into a forsaken island full of lepers. No laws. No religion. Death and disaster prevailed. These people had been sent there to starve to death on lonely stretches of land where they attempted to build huts with hands lent ineffective by leprosy. Fresh water was several miles away and they could not walk. There were children, women, old men, young men, little girls, little boys..but they had a common destiny – To die of starvation, cold, disease, loneliness and heartbreak. Separated from kith and kin these lepers were dumped by the dozen on to the island along with some tools and food that was near-decay. The tools were not of any use because they could not use their rotting hands. There was the smell of death in the air. It was loathsome. There was fear. Everyday they died, choicelessly. The bodies were left out in the open. Even the ones who came in the initial stages of the disease worsened and died. The government and the people forgot all about them. For centuries, the island of Molokai in Hawaii was the dumping ground of lepers. It was hell. There was no escape, no redemption, no cure, no love, no life, no hope. There was death and disease. No choices. Until….
This man made a choice….He was the only man in his right health and right mind that began living on the island…living on the island of death out of choice. he was father Damien, a Catholic missionary from Europe. He had been apprentice under a carpenter as a boy. This was the skill that was to change the life of the forsaken lepers in Molokai. His initial task was to establish order. The people had no food, no clothes and no shelter. There was no law. There was chaos. There was pain, loneliness, suffering, decay, dirt, litter, pain and death. There was no code of conduct. No future. No need to be orderly or virtuous. The society had forsaken them…so they will not retain its memories, its laws, its judgement..they will die like animals. His task was to restore hope and stability. He single-handedly (with help from a few lepers) repaired the existing chapel which was in shambles.
This is the church he built along with some lepers….
He lived on the island for 16 years. In his period, the ban was lifted on the island and travelers were allowed to and from the island. When Father Damien tried to go out to gather some help, he was rudely turned away. He was warned that he would be locked up in a cell if he dared come out again. Everybody believed that he had contracted leprosy. Father Damien continuously bombarded the authorities with letters, day after day and badgered them for facilities, for raw materials, for equipments and tools, for clothes, for funds and so on. The government never realized that this kind of a problem would arise. After all, it was ridiculous that the lepers must want to have equipments, clothes and so on. What were they even thinking! Finally they relented, grudgingly.
With the little resources provided, most of which were damaged Father Damien made the place to be like this…
Many children were afflicted by leprosy…many of them were orphans who were being abused greatly before Father Damien landed there..
This is the girls choir he made..
Finally…Father Damien contracted the deadly disease…the government refused to take him to Honolulu to treat him…later when they changed their minds the Father refused. He had spent 16 years of his life in the island..with people who had leprosy. He had treated their wounds, been with them, loved them, laughed with them, cried with them, lived with them..he did not fear the disease or death.He had made over 1600 coffins for friends in the island who had died of the same disease..he had buried each one of them. His last days he spent in happiness and cheer. He never stopped working even when his face was full of tumours, his left leg fell off his body and his whole physique was in a terrible condition. Even till his last moments he was uttering words of comfort in whispers, supervising activities, treating patients, until he was bed-ridden…
This is the man…. who died for a cause..
He died peacefully at the age of 49….leaving a question for many many including me, who complain of little things, who are selfish, who break hearts, who are cruel, who have a violence in their deepest feelings, who have meaningless hatred governing their lives, who have no love, who have no smiles for the weak, who have big lives with lots of objects but are as empty as can be inside their hearts…He has left this question – What is life worth living for?
As the bus approached Adyar, the sun was beating down on us mercilessly. Looking forward to the cool comfort of an auto, we were disappointed when eight of us managed to cram ourselves into a share-auto, the insides of which were nothing less than an oven. As we moved towards Kannagi Nagar in Thoraipakkam, we were really shaken up by the condition of the roads (pun intended). The roads were full of pitfalls and potholes. We laughed it off comparing ourselves to the participants of Takeshi’s Castle. Little did we know that our laughter would not last long! The first thing I noticed when I got down from the auto was the heat and the fact that I was in the middle of nowhere. Some bus trudged along with a large number of people hanging on to it for dear life. There were rows of houses that looked identically miserable. We walked down a road with houses lined on either side. These houses were government quarters provided to the victims of Tsunami. There were many children: malnourished, dusty, eager, and naked, and with bright eyes. They looked more beautiful to me than the chubby children I see in Pizza Hut or Mayajaal.
As we progressed, the unhygienic living conditions were blatant. There were swarms of flies over everything and everybody. There was a vegetable shop full of vegetables that were clouded over by flies. An old lady of about 75 years of age sat peacefully amidst these flies. A little boy was eating Idlis, from a plate which was infested with flies. Some children relieved themselves in the open. There was human excrement on either side of the road. We spoke to an old lady who told us of the whereabouts of the girls we were planning to meet. Near her sat a one-year old baby kicking up dust and digging the dirt. The baby had a nonchalant look on its face. When I tried to pat its head it put its tongue out and gave me a look that did not mean anything. I had a vague feeling that the baby had some health problem which was not being noticed. However, we had to move away from there. I noticed several girl children who were not clad properly. I thought how unsafe it was for these children to move about in such a condition. There were possibilities of abuse and infection.
We entered the house of Imelda whose 6-month old baby Jennifer caught our attention immediately. The baby was the loveliest little thing. It had bright eyes, very small toes and fingers, a fluffy head and a charming smile. It was a very playful and agile baby. It uttered some really delightful gurgles and coos. Our excitement did not last. We understood that the baby had a problem in its right leg. Its right foot was bent at the ankle and required treatment. The mother tried to make the baby wear the special shoes meant for the purpose of correcting the foot. The baby began to cry after a minute of wearing these shoes. We could see the pain and discomfort on its face. So she removed the shoes and I lifted the baby and pacified it back to smiling and gurgling.
I and my friend Gitanjali moved towards another house where we were to meet two more girls.
At Amudha’s small one-room kitchen house we met Amudha and her friend Devi. We first apologized for interrupting with their daily chores. As we began a conversation with them, I noticed that there was no electricity in the house. I remembered that Imelda’s house had electricity. To begin with, we spoke to Amudha and Devi for about an hour.
Devi had come to Kannagi Nagar after the Tsunami. During the Tsunami, she had managed to quickly grab the suitcase that contained some jewelry and sarees and ran for safety, in knee-deep water along with her kinsfolk. The only difference between others and her had been that she was 9-months pregnant. Devi recollected her parents who lived in Poonamallee. She told me that she had two younger sisters and one younger brother, yet to be married. Her own marriage happened to Sivaprakasam when she was hardly 18 years old. It was an arranged marriage unlike Amudha’s. Devi has studied till 6th standard. I asked her why she stopped education after that. She said that her father was a drunkard who beat her mother up everyday. So they moved to her grandparents’ house for safety. Their education was stopped once they went to a newer location.
Devi’s marriage had been an important occasion. Her father-in-law and mother-in-law were not alive. She has four sisters-in-law, one of whom lives at Kannagi Nagar. She had left her child behind with this sister-in-law in order to converse with us. During Devi’s marriage her sisters-in-law demanded that she bring a dowry of 6 sovereigns in gold, a cot and a bureau. Devi’s parents being poor, had managed to give her 4 sovereigns in gold and they promised that the cot and bureau would be delivered later (which they never managed).
To this day, the four sisters-in-law fight with Devi for this reason. Devi’s husband tactfully remains silent while his sisters indulge in verbal abuse of the girl. She retorts to them by saying that she is one who would wear the 6 sovereigns and that she could do with just 4 sovereigns worth jewels. If need be, she shall obtain more. As an extension of this anger, her sister-in-law refuses to share electricity with Devi’s house, though Devi pays for it. She fights with Devi and demands that the fan should be switched on only at certain times of the day and so on. Devi being a quiet girl, the fights do not extend beyond verbal exchanges.
Devi’s husband brings home Rs. 2100 or so p.m. This amount varies with the availability of work. They do not have any recreation except watching TV at another girl Metti’s house. As they live quite far away from the city, they do not go out to a movie or a temple, which they used to do until they lived in the city. Devi’s life is peaceful except for her cantankerous sisters-in-law who trouble her. Her child Sandhya is a big-eyed and weak child. I asked her if the child ate properly. Devi claimed that she fed the child with Cerelac but the child did not eat properly.
Devi’s daily routine consisted of waking up, sending her husband to work, and waiting for corporation water which was available at certain times in the day. Once she brought home the required amount of water, she bathed the child, cooked and fed the child. Her husband ate his lunch outside. She spent her time watching TV at Metti’s place and gossiping with the other girls in the block. When he came home in the evening they ate a simple meal and slept on the floor. It was an uneventful life.
With memories of their older lives with kith and kin, these girls are living like exiles. They do not have anyone to reach out to with their problems, except to each other. They hope to go back to the city and to tolerable living conditions.
When I asked Devi, if she would educate her child, she said, “Yes, Certainly! Only I have turned out to be like this. She must do really well.” There was hope and happiness in her eyes. No complaints.
You are a human shadow. If a loved one needs you,
you are always right at his or her heels!
Your deep social connection with human beings
produces your qualities of genuine caring and
charisma. However, at times you are naive to
the true nature of your loved ones. Remember
that humans’ gift of free will does not
always lead them in wise directions. But
your essence of love and friendship represent
the other precious gifts of humanity. Overall
you are a strikingly valuable and innocent
being who has a lot to give.
What Kind of Shadow Are You? (with gorgeous pics)
brought to you by Quizilla
Here is a flower for all those who helped me..appreciated me…stood by me..and suggested improvements! 
I did not realize that Evocations to Phoenix-Raiser was my 50th post on this blog… Happy that I have not been crumpled rolled and thrown into a trash bin.. Thanks for the regulars here…I believe that my writing has improved a lot after I began blogging.. This was my first stammering step!! – In this wide wide blog…
Note: I have attempted a retelling of the Cupid and Psyche myth which is one of my all-time favorites. Here Psyche would be seen as the human psyche. Cupid as love. Venus as Providence. Persephone as innocence and the season of spring.
Born in royal grace and in innocence, the psyche gets abandoned in the dark woods of life, at the bidding of jealous gods. When dwelling in a phantasmal palace all flora and fauna become the psyche’s companions in reality and fantasy. Eluding jealous providence, Love sustains the psyche. When the psyche attempts to probe the nature and form of love, love is broken down into analytical bits and leaves the psyche in meaningless rage. The psyche mourns and craves for love, waits in anguish and emptiness. The psyche has only fantasies for friends. Providence prevents love from healing the psyche. It finds the psyche in a state of vulnerable mourning. It banishes the psyche to the depths of abysmal mindscape that simulates hell, to retrieve a casket of mystery guided by the essence of spring and innocence. Leaning over surreal precipices that could drive her into perilous chasms of lunacy the psyche descends into the hell of suffering with near insane oblivion. Spring brings back the hope of reunion with love. The casket of mystery is not to be probed until the psyche reaches the levels of human reality back to rational thought levels, back to normalcy, back to earth. Alas! The psyche cannot but probe, analyze, dissect, understand, know, ponder, reason out and believe. Despite having lost love once attempting to understand its nature, the psyche resorted to dissection again. Driven by the great desire to know, the psyche probes the forbidden. Attempting to understand the mysteries of life, death and love, and unable to cope with the conflicts presented, the psyche loses consciousness. Unable to come to terms with the unknowable, the psyche is thrust into untold anguish. Love arrives to rescue and revitalize the psyche. Love teaches acceptance..Love carries the psyche far away into the dark woods of life and the palace of dreams and fantasies against conniving providence into an escapade of hallucinations.
Sighing, dreaming, longing, wishful thinking, waiting…
vāraNam āyiram sūzha valam seidu
nāraNan nambi nadakkinRān ennedir
pūraNa poRkudam vaittup puRam eñgum
toraNam nāttak kanāk kaNden tozhi nān
A thousand elephants, śri nāraNan surround
He is on an auspicious procession around
Brimming golden vases, in his way gleamed
And streamers were planted, tozhi I dreamed..
These are the well-loved lines from “nāchiyār tirumozhi” by āndāL . āndāL pining for the love of śri nāraNan is dreaming of a procession with śri nāraNan at its helm. He shall come and ask for her hand in marriage flanked by a thousand elephants, golden vases brimming with auspicious water placed in his way, streamers and flags planted everywhere in great fanfare. āndāL confides in her girlfriend this beautiful dream of hers.
For umā in kumārasambhavam by kālidāsā, it is a dream come true. After all she won the heart of Shiva: after a great struggle, self-restraint and penance.
athaushadhīnāmadhipasya vrdhau tithaucha jāmitragunānvithāyām sametabandurhimavān sutāyā vivāhadīkśāvithimanvathiśtath
On that day when the Lord of Herbs (moon) waxed Himavān surrounded by his relatives began arrangements for the marriage of his daughter.
vaivāhikairkautukasamvidānairgrhe grhe vyagrapurandrivargham āsitpurasanumatoanurāgānta puramcheikakulopameyam
With the approach of the auspicious wedding, every household took on a festive mood. The harem and the rest of the city became as one family.
santānakākīrNamahāpatham tachīnāmśukairkalpitaketumālam bhāsojvalatkāncanatoranānām stānāntaram svaragaivābabhāse
With the large road strewn with santānaka flowers, the flags and banners made of China silk, the golden festoons shimmering brightly, the city looked like a heaven in yet another place.
..and so it goes. The whole of the 7th canto in kumārasambhavam talks of the marriage of Shiva and umā. The bedecking of the bride and groom, the bridegroom’s arrival, the initial rituals, the offering of lāja into the fire, the seven steps and the ceremony of the toe-ring are all described in an amazingly beautiful manner.
Daub my flimsy paper heart
With broken crayons
Sunset oranges
Blue blue rivers
Bumble bees
Homes with fences
Laden mango trees
Crows flying nestwards
Lamps glowing
Windows watching
Flowers twinkling like
Coloured stars.
Dress up my dolls
In sequinned frocks
Sketch pen dots
Strings of pearls
Little scarves
Laces and love..
On umbrella days
Cheek pressed to cold grilles
Tongue licking sour metal
Peer at paper boats
Bubbles and ripples.
Climb creaking ladders
Clutching hands tight
Watch sunsets
Hear distant trains.
In old bookcases
With quaint smells
Of ancient pages
Of rusty dreams
Rummage for relics
Of a past birth.
Weep to young ancestors
On old studio photographs
Clasp rosaries tight
With books of incantations
To invoke ancient Gods
Pray..
To nameless gods
And gods with thousand names.
Console me with
The unpredictability of tomorrows
Dead men rising
Miracles
Metamorphosis
Babies smiling
In serene sleep
Of falling in love
Once again with life.
My Prince
Come steal me away
On a blue horse named “dReAmS”
Whisper in my ears
Secrets smudged by warm breath
Gift me with dreams
Of rainy summer evenings
With sunshine and sunflower fields
Dripping with fragrant rain
Wet earth kissing barefeet..
On starry night skies
With conundrums on existence
Wonder with me..
In butterfly gardens
On breezy mornings
Laugh with me…
When December dawns
Send cool misty winds
Shower me with sleepy kisses…
When Gulmohurs bloom
Like uncontained desires
Pick them with me…
In dreary rooms
Dried coffee mugs
Shuffling feet
Shifty eyes
Rustling books
Barred windows
Closed doors to rain
Open umbrellas
Tables etched
With runes on failed love
In lonely cities
Lost alleyways
Taciturn neighbours
Trundling like a misfit
When I stoop to pick up
An ignored dream
Across lonely noons with strangers
Broken twigs
Withered leaves
And unseen flowers
Stay with me…
You scored as Spiritualist. You are a Spiritualist. You are most at home in the subtle realms of existence, and since you can’t be there all the time, you communicate with spirits regularly to keep at least one foot on higher planes. As you progress, more and more of your interaction is based on planes other than the physical, and while this can draw strange glances from those who overhear, for the most part you are able to blend in and go unnoticed. It’s a shame, really, because you have depths therefore unseen by your peers.
What Subversive Alternative Paradigm Are You? |
At the junction, a traffic jam. Horns blaring at different decibels. I clutched my head. I was not in an especially agreeable mood. There was a yellow light flashing right into my eyes. All sights and sounds drowned me. I felt murderous.
I wanted to scream….ask them to stop. I was insane. The sounds exaggerated themselves a hundredfold. Now noises seemed to be coming from inside my head. Horns, blares, honks, growls, roars, beeps, buzzes, raucous laughter, screams, wails, moans, groans, someone talking, grumbling, a monotonous voice uttering meaningless chants, a voiceless warm breath throbbing in my temple, a light flashing, flashing, a pain that shot up my head like an anesthetic, smoke, heat, buildings collapsing, walls enclosing, hammering in my head, rubbles, debris, the absurdity of it all…
This is what hell must be like….I resented it all..I resented the noise makers..cursed their meaningless horns, the urge to speed, the rat race, the throb in my temples..I hated it all…hated it with murderous sinister simplicity.
The heat rising, the buildings falling..the horns blaring, the car that steered in every direction except home, the roads that winded like words empty, the meaninglessness of it all..I resented it. I resented everything.
Somewhere childhood screeches and wails arose, somewhere the schoolday swing that took me heavenwards, far from the madding crowd..regression..
Somewhere I loved them all…loved the hatred, loved the noise, loved the anger…somewhere evilness arose like the odour of a burning dream..
Somewhere the sultry summer day, enveloped in smoke I writhed, breathless…gasping for a hand to clutch tight..incredibly tight..leaving marks of two hundred aeons on those hands…
O..the meaninglessness of it all…loneliness strangles me…mercilessly shoves me into “nowhere”..nowhere is silent..nowhere is empty..nowhere is the place for me…nowhere is quiet..nowhere has suffocation..nowhere has no windows…nowhere is dreamless…nowhere plucks the wings of every butterfly fantasy with smiling cruelty..nowhere razes with heavy boots fragrant petals of love..nowhere kills..nowhere rips the feathers off the tiny bird’s tomorrows…nowhere breaks guitar strings…nowhere tears last pages from books…nowhere steals the things you love…nowhere scratches surfaces with blades of anger..nowhere damages…I live here in nowhere…
There is no escape, no exit, nobody to open doors, nobody to light lamps, nobody to play a song or soothe you with a gentle secret…there is nobody to clear the cobwebs, nobody to dream your dreams, nobody to ask you if you want a kiss…Tears are dead…rivers are dry…poems are wilting in pain…
technorati tags: Scream, schizoid, loneliness, hatred, loveless
