YOUR SPACE OR MINE?
They're both talking at the same time. One's voice can be heard by way of speech; the other, while attempting to listen, is actually speaking very loudly inside her head and trying hard not to verbalise before it's her turn. This is no duel. It's an aching attempt to do justice to the flighty moments of individual ownership that we each come by, while in conversation. 'This is what I think or feel about that." Every time a turn to talk arrives, they each throw themselves into it and grab at the moment and hold it fast and with longing... before it passes again. And then they wait for the next spot, almost like waiting to return to their beginnings again - beginnings where there was only one I, one self and space.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
SHRESHTA ON HEALING SPACES
SOFT, STILL AND SOOTHING.
It's the white curtains and the freshly painted off-white walls, they conclude, while thinking aloud and letting their eyes wander around the room. It doesn't feel like there is a bustling street just around the corner once you step in here, they confess with uncertainty, waiting to test their hypothesis, only to find that the calmness stays on, much to their relief. As the visits unfold, bringing in old allies, new companions and future friends, all the little touches and embellishments find quiet or curious admirers and settle acceptingly into their designated spots on the walls, side tables and wooden bookshelves. The place gives of itself, to each who enters. And how could it not? The process of its coming together involved healing, love, equality and giving between two souls. It is a space of refuge, resting and revival. A pit stop called home.
It's the white curtains and the freshly painted off-white walls, they conclude, while thinking aloud and letting their eyes wander around the room. It doesn't feel like there is a bustling street just around the corner once you step in here, they confess with uncertainty, waiting to test their hypothesis, only to find that the calmness stays on, much to their relief. As the visits unfold, bringing in old allies, new companions and future friends, all the little touches and embellishments find quiet or curious admirers and settle acceptingly into their designated spots on the walls, side tables and wooden bookshelves. The place gives of itself, to each who enters. And how could it not? The process of its coming together involved healing, love, equality and giving between two souls. It is a space of refuge, resting and revival. A pit stop called home.
Sunday, March 03, 2013
SHRESHTA ON SPACE ON THE NOSE
SMELL & SENSIBILITY
A thousand surge at us as we begin our walk. Sweat, sand, soap, dung, camphor, flowers, oil, oranges, fish, pigeons, disinfectant, wet earth, deodorant, varnish, burnt rubber - each blending with the distinct other, explosively at one instance, and gently at another, creating one choking gulp of life-odour at a time. We succumb to the methodical olfactory attack; the other senses take a reluctant back seat. And suddenly, as we navigate our way through the heart of Dadar, we look at each other for a moment and smile at the mutual realisation of having just smelt ' humanity'.
A thousand surge at us as we begin our walk. Sweat, sand, soap, dung, camphor, flowers, oil, oranges, fish, pigeons, disinfectant, wet earth, deodorant, varnish, burnt rubber - each blending with the distinct other, explosively at one instance, and gently at another, creating one choking gulp of life-odour at a time. We succumb to the methodical olfactory attack; the other senses take a reluctant back seat. And suddenly, as we navigate our way through the heart of Dadar, we look at each other for a moment and smile at the mutual realisation of having just smelt ' humanity'.
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