Old man and the sea, and ..me.

~~~

Old Man Ocean, how do you pound

Smooth glass, rough stones round?

Time and the tide and the wild waves rolling

Night and the wind and the long grey dawn.

Old Man Ocean, what do you tell,

What do you sing in the empty shell?

Fog and the storm and the long bell tolling,

Bones in the deep and the brave men gone.

– Russell Hoban

~~~

This time, that year:

Wave after wave, questions after questions, answers to questions, answers in questions, questions in answer, wave after wave.

This time, this year, this place:

There has been a lot of time and mindspace to observe this churning,
This dark gray-mattered sea which stretches far and deep inside me.

~~~

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Churning

This time, that year,
same place.

Wave after wave rising, swelling, crashing. Question after question flowed out, flowed in, went on..and along with the questions, a few answers surfaced, rose like the waves.

Within many questions lay answers, or hints to them. And within many answers, especially the ones which I now feel were short-sighted, lay hidden many more questions.

The cliff stood firm, though, watching this play, back and forth, wave after wave, question after answer, answer after question.

This time, this year, this place.

~~~

This is the longest we’ve stayed at a beach, and with barely any ‘distractions’ , there has been a lot of time and mindspace to observe the churning of the sea, this dark grey matter which stretches so far and deep.

Rain.

Feel the rain.

The magic that is monsoon, after the months of waiting, the looking up at empty skies, the beating of the cruel sun, the long days of summer, the dry landscape, helplessly watching the weakening rivers and lakes, the cracking up of the soil, the slow roasting of leaves on plants, awaiting the cooler breeze of the evening, waiting..

And magically, cyclically, slowly, sometimes suddenly and scarily fast, there is a cloud formation like this. Pregnant with hope.

Flash! Boom! Crack! Boom! Rumble! The breeze picks up, the mercury cuddles up and shrinks and cowers down, trees open up – sway and dance, birds seem to surf the skies in the strong gusts and our hearts soar as the first tiny or the first HUGE drops splatter down.

Feel the rain, don’t get ‘just’ wet.

Back ‘home'(?) or rather, back to school.

I no longer know where home is.

All I do know is the feeling of being welcome in a place, the warmth, the vibes, the familiarity and new lessons.

Bangalore has been a place which has shaped me, and almost exactly a year later, (and what a year it has been, the first year as an educator / learning facilitator (not sure if the word ‘teacher’ exists!), as we return there for a brief time, I can’t help but remember the lessons learnt, and all that had been unlearnt there, of what to do and, what not.

Looking forward!