Snigdha sent this over today- she just got back from a week of volunteer work in the villages of Cuddalore. Snigdha for those who don't know her is the self-appointed Goddess of Twine and Doing Things Slowly.
She used to live in a SwissFamilyRobinson sort of house in Auroville. After the tsunami hit the fishing communities near by she told the woman who helped out in the house to come to her if she needed anything. Late that evening there was a knock at her door. She opened it to find the woman standing there- with the Panchayat president from her community, and six hundred other people who hadn't had dinner and could she please help? Please.
So Snigdha did. Because she's just that sort of person.
here are some of her words...
the day after
the sun did not come out
no one smiled
there seemed nothing in the air
would hold us tight
reassure
the smell of the sea
lingers on the red earth
where it has no place
the day after
feelings of awe are bleeding
tonight as you watch the news
headlines
red bold panic
will scare you but not tell you
that there is a man on the south eastern coast of India
clutching a black umbrella
staring into a once loved ocean
as the night envelops him
he sits back down and waits
for his answers
*****************************************************************
we took the bus
the day after the day after
noisy, chaotic
all elbows and baggage
we got the two last seats but that didnt stop others from streaming on board
two televisons filled our horizon
with brilliant moments from tamil films
the men on the bus laugh loudy
the women stare ahead, tuck their laughter inside
watch the screen with wide-eyed devotion
everyone is entertained as we make our way to Cuddalore
where the air smells of rotting flesh
and the old women sing softly
asking gods and the world at large
why
their grandchildren
are lying on a beach far away
eyes closed peaceful
why
they have been spared
with the burden of life
tangled among blue plastic nets
under bricks and calenders
time means nothing
as the year walks out meekly
we feel small next to a grey sea
that refuses to look guilty
*****************************************************************
i felt like a monster
big and loud
i hadnt spoken but already i had made so much noise
i tried to smile at everyone and felt my teeth
sticking to something inside of me
loudy
i sit on the rumble that was once a house, a road
and make paper butterflies for children who scamper up and down
so shy and hesitating and then such tight clamps on my knees
who dont want me to go and talk all at once
and tell me all about the time they went to madras
big city, many lights
they are all noise and laughter and each little smile
is something i had given up trying to find
pure and simple
asking for nothing
when i speak
the sounds are all distorted falling out of my mouth
how do you ask people how much they have lost
why should anyone tell me
i nod my head alot
as if i could understand what it would be like to have so little
and lose that too so perfectly
the sun so bright off the sea makes me squint
i listen and listen
his story is not interesting he tells me
i was in my boat, on the sea
i didnt see anything
and i didnt hear anything
and i didnt feel anything
and as he speaks his voice grows tighter
and he doesn't see me at all
but talks to blue water, blue sky
something far beyond me
i didnt see anything he says
and when he came back, with fish that no one ate,
there was nothing
nothing at all
the sea had reached in and taken away
all the beautiful things he had placed lovingly beside her
thinking that he knew her
thinking that she would keep them safe
now nothing remains of
the little house with green walls
the wife
the three year old daughter
her tiny hands, the bells on their feet
there is nothing but the smell of salt
and the sunshine dancing on waves
there is nothing for me to do
nothing else for him to say
there was nothing left for me to see
he blinks and leaves