The Story of a Glacier
It catches in the prism of its chest,
the frolic of the sunlight
and the smile of the moon.
it sings the song of silence,
and sheds its tears
in the breast of the sea.
It catches in the prism of its chest,
the frolic of the sunlight
and the smile of the moon.
it sings the song of silence,
and sheds its tears
in the breast of the sea.
But even if you consider yourself a responsible user of Nature, in the very depth of your heart, there is a conviction: “The world must serve me—nourish, provide necessary conditions for life, development, and safety. Because I’m so . . . special.”
When shadows rebel, and pedestals crumble,
When dreams are dead, And deities gone.
It is avoiding suffering at the cost of giving up on oneself. It is persisting in nourishing the expectations of others on our person, feeding and dragging over time a role that does not represent who we really are. For what? For the illusion of receiving affection, attention and recognition from those around us. But that slight melancholy in our gaze, that sudden anger, that emptiness in the stomach will come knocking to remind us of the urgency of the freedom to be. We would have no faults in choosing ourselves and our true nature, we would not betray anyone.
The traditional dance form Kuchipudi, which is also the favourite of dance form of Lord Krishna, begins with an invocation, followed by all the dancers introducing themselves with respect to the roles they are playing. After this, they perform a short dance set to a music called ‘Dharavu’ and then present the pure dance performance along with the rhythmic hand gestures for the story. It is one of the most popular dance forms in India and has seen huge growth throughout the years. Kuchipudi is now performed not just in India, but worldwide as well.
To a person like me who is familiar with Prof Chatterjee’s poems, the twist in the end that many of his poems have, is a thing most looked forward to.
You’d say,“ Sorry, brother, I won’t lie-But where’s the time. To bemoan your death? Attending your rites, or putting a wreath?”
“If art is the mirror of the society in which we live, how has modern man, together with his innate creativity, mirrored himself in a world twisted by a pandemic?”
If with this question I was referring to the Pandemic of the eighteenth century and I was a writer of the time, which is very unlikely, but in any case, would the answer change?
Man calls it river, makes it flow like gutter. The sky is polluted, the river matches the sky.
Friction is an important force of the creation. It is so helpful, yet it is always looked down upon as a negative component of life.