"Can you sing with all the voices of the
mountains
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind"
Pocahontas (Walt Disney Pictures), 1995
In the
south-eastern corner of my residence, we happen to have a balcony. It is said
that a house gives shelter to people but a home offers solace to the heart, and
when we first moved in to this residence five-and-a-half years back, I think
this south-eastern corner contained the first square foot of area which firmly
announced its recognition as "home" in my seventeen-year-old
adolescent heart. Of course the rest of the house was soon to follow, but as they
say, one never does forget one's first love.
In a sea
of monotonous suffocating yellow sand, a desert wanderer seeks the solace of
sweet water in an oasis. A lost seafaring journeyman likewise sees deliverance
in the palm frond on a tiny island which breaks an otherwise stifling expanse
of unbroken blue. What sanctum, I wonder, should a city dweller seek whose eyes
cannot see beyond concrete and whose ears crave for freedom from the sound
moving steel makes? My lucky balcony, facing the blue sky in the day and the
stars in the night, its view on account of sheer luck left unsullied by
civilization, is my sanctuary from concrete and steel.
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| Picture Courtesy: Saptarshi Chakrabarti |
Every
year in the month of February, winter announces its departure from my city, and
every year without exception the departure seems to arrive far too soon. You
can try pleading with the weather gods but they tend to turn a deaf ear to our
pleas. While the city sniffs around for the elusive spirit of
"spring" whose manifestation is nothing if not ephemeral, I on the
other hand remain on the lookout for signals. The day when I first ditch the
compulsory lukewarm water for my shower, the evening when I first employ the
services of a ceiling fan after a long tiring day, and the night when I first
decommission the uses of my blanket or bed cover - these are telltale signs of
the season ending. But if I were tasked with pinpointing one particular moment
which declares the termination of the cold season to my eccentric mind, it is
indubitably the turning of the wind.
Every
single day I happen to spend some time standing at the corner of the balcony in
the south-east, which may range from a couple of minutes to a good two hours at
a stretch. When I stick my head out in winter, the season reminds me of its
presence by a sharp cool wind which strikes my face from up north. Meteorologists
would undoubtedly be able to explain this phenomenon better, but every year I
find a date on the calendar when for the first time in three to four months I
find a new wind brushing past and saying hello. This wind does not pinch me in
the face; it instead ruffles the back of the shirt I'm wearing and my ears
detect a soft whoosh. It is not the unremitting cold which only faintly reminds
of the mountains up north, but the mellow fresh breeze sweet on the skin from
the seas down south. I raise my arms sideways; if the wind is strong enough,
the traffic is quiet enough and my mood is fanciful enough, I imagine I am
flying.
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| Picture Courtesy: Mitrayan Hazra |
If Man
and Nature were to meet on a balance sheet, we would be neck deep in
liabilities. True, we ourselves are a part of nature and her creations, but
even trying to compare what we have got from her to what we have actually
succeeded in giving back sounds ridiculously absurd. We take and take and then
take for granted. Creating categories and classifications is something I enjoy
doing, so I will now indulge myself by making two. The exponents of nature
around us come chiefly under two classes. The living "sentient"
beings include the species who act think locomote and procreate willingly for
themselves, while the non-living entities are the elements of nature cardinal
to the planet like the rivers, forests, the wind and the ocean. Of course,
every tree in a forest is a living being, but the broader entity of a forest
like the bulk of a seemingly unending ocean derives awe from its invariability
and solid lifeless immobility. Basically, the inert insentient world has put
itself at the service of the living animate world to transfigure and modify it
as per convenience. The living world follows this directive in different ways.
An earthworm digs itself a hole in the ground, a pigeon gathers an assortment
of twigs to build a nest, and a human creates a pool of frozen concrete and
polished steel where originally a forest used to thrive. The intent of all
three, interestingly, is the same.
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| Picture Courtesy: Aniket Pal |
Nature is
not confined within a week's trip to Manali or a short weekender at Goa.
Neither can Henrik Jeppesen, a 28-year-old Dane who has travelled to
every country in the world and has surely seen a lot of it, claim monopoly over it. Nature is
exceedingly personalized and has a different palette to offer to each one of
us. Reality is not always attractive and charming and neither is nature, but
what the two have in common is the absolute undeniable state of being. Through
ups and downs, menacing twists, frenzies of action and periods of indolence,
life has the habit of marching on. Through spellbinding snow-covered
mountainsides and rivers sparkling in the sun, to a patch of rocky terrain or
an expanse of hot hazy dull green, nature is omnipresent. It is just, there.
If the
reader remembers the fairy tales and worlds of make believe from younger days,
I urge you to take note of a simple phenomenon. Back when we were young, they
would talk to us. These objects, these lifeless inanimate "things",
would be depicted with a pair of round eyes and a wide smile by the
illustrators while the writer would give them words to speak. More often than
not, these fables would be aimed at imbibing certain values within the children
whose minds were still soft enough to be moulded. A noble thought, by all
means; I for one would love to see some morals around for a change. But even if
by some rare occurrence the morals lessons are absorbed, why is it that the
whispering wind, the charming river, and the conscientious apple tree who
provided a little child with its fruit branches leaves and stem, are all
"de-personified" at the guillotine of growing up?
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Picture Courtesy: Saptarshi
Chakrabarti
|
Why is it
that we stop attributing a personality to nature? Society takes it for granted
that a person's character and persona is modelled and structured by the people
around him or her, and I unequivocally agree to this sentiment. What is not so
widely elaborated is the effect of the inanimate nature surrounding an
individual as well in structuring the temperament and disposition. As a friend
from a district up north of Bengal had told me, the mountains and the rivers of
the districts are absorbed into the bloodstreams of the people, thus turning
out generations of fine men and women. My city, on the other hand, has surely
given onto me a part of its own character and disposition, but what it has
absolutely robbed me off is a chance to mingle freely in nature and learn a few
lessons and pick up a few traits there as well.
This was
not meant to be a cliched article on nature and its contributions. World Environment
Day, which is celebrated on 5th June for those unaware, is still considerably
far off so this does not qualify to be sentimental hogwash written out of
topical pressure. The 400-word essay I had produced in under 12 minutes while
writing my Bengali paper during my matriculation exams was on the
oh-so-enlightening topic of "Nature and Pollution", so I probably
know a thing or two about writing cliches. This is merely an effort and an
entreaty to give nature and its elements the place it deserves in the scheme of
things. The first step to bringing about change is to accept the necessity for
the change, and it is time we started giving some thought to it.
To end
where I begun, I return to my balcony of the south-east. It is not without
reason that it remains the favourite part of my home, because in moments of
agony and of unbridled joy here is one part of the house where I can be myself
and expression may flow unbound. In communication with nature, you do not
require any medium. Today when the first Norwester of the season blew through
the city, our communication was at its heightened peak. My eyes reflected every
time the lightning spoke. My ears took in the consequent almighty crash and
unceasing whoosh of winds. My nose picked up the distinct and inimitable smell
rainwater makes when it patters down upon layers of dust. The skin of my hands
and face revelled in the coolness and wetness of the small drops which invaded
into the balcony.
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Picture Courtesy: Saptarshi
Chakrabarti
|
I only
wish I were out on the roads, my tongue feeling for a taste of the clouds
above.
