Its been more than two weeks. Meteriological department has announced the arrival of south west monsoon over most of India. It has been raining in most of the country; heavy to very heavy rainfall had paralised eastern region for a few days, even it rained in the neighbouring Rajasthan. But Gujarat, where we stay, remins hopeful, and only hopeful.
The clouds are passing by. But they pass by. A few moments of drizzle raise the hopes, more eyes look up, more of us log onto IMD website; only to see white patches on satellite images becoming bolder all around, leaving a little haze for this western state. Hope floats.
Its been a week at NID, its been a week of isometric drawing classes. The ambiguity came back yesterday, M C Escher leading us into the vastness of metamorphosis and seeing what is not there! "Hope" offer a great illusion that manifests into Gods and Gandhi, only to be rediscovered as unreal expectations. Today's world insist to live for better days; and thats the irony, thats the ambiguity. If today is not better, then how could tomorrow be? We, humans, have grown as a collective memory, a collective effort. That effort drags us away from the nature and the natural cycles; crying freedom from all bonding, confusing our existence with immortality.
Its been a week since then. Indra has blessed with life's elixir. Dying plants in the garden sprouted new leaves- some flowered already. The celebration of life turns to youth, renewal and varying shades of green. The highway to the state capital Gandhinagar looks clean. The divider that was full of struggling plants from the days of vibrating Gujarat (December-January 2011) full with new life and joy reclaiming existence. A sigh of relief must have cried through the corridors of secretariat, the dingy offices of Krushibhavan (Agriculture office of the state government) finding their way through the jumble of aging files. But the sigh fades as you take a turn to Koba village, about 8 Kms from the seat of power and "governance". Muddy water blocks the entry of the village, floating plastic bags and filth cloud your mind. Malaria buzz around the stagnant water and puddles reflecting realty boom of Gandhinagar.
The streets look green, perhaps a shade lesser. The trees right near the highway have been cut, giving their lives to a service road leading to the new IT park, boasting "mindspace" (http://www.krahejacorp.com/gandhi-nagar-project.html). One wonders, what happened to the tree transplant machines bought for crores, moving around with their yellow squid like heads, swimming across rushing traffic. "Development is it", my facebook comment said. But dipping into the mud and filth that restrain your view of the new life pushing through the feculence of civilization, a cry of anger tries to cross the 8 Kms separation between the governed and the governing; only to revisit our cravings for freedom. To be able to reclaim our lives from a few.
Its monsoon, nature has reclaimed its living from the breath of summer. Will that monsoon ever be the dawn of human civilization, reclaiming lives of those scared to live?
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