20th December 2014,

There are moments, when one gets entangled in thoughts that pull one’s morale down. Reaching out to kindred sister souls, a playfulness returns. One turns to the journal, allowing oneself to hear one’s own thoughts, with soft eyes. Then, these fingers pick up a paint brush, and from a pool of darkness, there appears the swirling image of a fiery Kathak dancer, Aditi Mangaldas, under the blanket of dense and dark air, singing poetry with her breath and limbs…

I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I’ve been circling for thousands of years
and I still don’t know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?

~ Rainer Maria Rilke.

Aditi Mangaldas, a delicate maiden draped in translucence. Her bronzish~orange organza lingers upon a quiet dawn. A poetry, a page, unwritten for the Sun God. Luminous speckles, swirling like mad mystics, dance upon a single shaft of sunlight. Her darts hit the core. A painting comes alive. Rain drops from a painted curtain, gently part with her dainty fingers, peeping out through an ornate scroll of a Persian Manuscript. Afloat upon a haunting melody of the sarangi, she carries me into the thicket of a dark and dense valley. All around, a forgotten ancient civilisation. She lays me gently in the soft light of dawn. Hidden behind the dark veil of swelling monsoon clouds, she appears, and then disappears. I am alive in the total surrender of her hallowed embrace. Every cell in this body, wet and glistening inside her sudden rain. A bud within, feels the warmth of his nearing lips, a million miles away. Your Pakhavaj speaks to me. It pleads not, but commands me to enter. Open the door. Your command rips open this heart, and there I see a resplendent warm face, bloom from deep inside of me. I receive your light, your sound, your breath.

O Who are You, Who Spins & Unspins?
O Madness!
O Thundering Drums!
O Sweet Melody!
O Mother!
O Grave from Yonder!
Who are you resurrecting from this brokenness?
Who is beating at my heart?

You tease me.
You beckon me to taste you.

O love sweet love!
How you play at my heart?
Plucking the tiniest string of my being.

I am tuning in to your music, to your chiselling.
Your beak pecks at this dead wood.
You peck open a cave, place an egg in its hollow, and say,
“”NOW. Yes, it is now. You are ready, my love! NOW. NOW. NOW.”

Now it is.