Wednesday, January 8, 2020

High on dance!


What could be a better way to celebrate than dance! And if there is one dance festival that I would always want to be a part of, it would be the Navratri Daandiya Festival in Ahmedabad.

For even before I could figure out their faces, I identified a bunch of limbs flying about animatedly, but in absolute tandem. They moved as if the world around them didn’t exist at all. I had to focus really hard to count them; five men dressed in bright, mirrored festive attire with their arms filling in for the missing daandiya sticks.

No matter what song played, they had their choreography ready. And everyone seemed to know instantly what they were going to do. Their energy had me hooked. But above all, it was the insane synchronization that rose the level of their happiness or should I say madness to the next level.

I had never seen men on such a high without having a drop of alcohol. The songs played were all devotional and not some cheap Bollywood item numbers but that didn’t affect their moves at all, neither did they dampen their spirit. The guys were matching up to the girls and how!

And this was not that case with just this group. The huge exhibition ground was bursting with blissful souls, men, women, and children, spreading such cheer and enthusiasm that one couldn’t remain untouched by it for long. So, casting aside my inhibitions, I too raised  my invisible daandiyas and turned around hoping to match a step here and there with the co-ordinated groups.

Monday, January 6, 2020

Underground in Anatolia


That day, while on the fields, plowing, I saw dust rising at the horizon,
A bad sign, for it meant that a brutal cataclysm was just behind the sun

The Arab invaders were fast approaching, each one riding on his stallion
With a single mission, to murder all those who didn’t serve their religion

No longer left with the determination to endure more such juggernauts
We chose to hide where they couldn’t reach us, not even their thoughts

Beneath the ground lay our haven, an entire city carved out of the rock
Eight layers deep, wide enough for 3500 of us to cook, rest, pray or walk



Pulling our cattle along, we ran towards the door; the leaders advising
to step into a big basin at the entry with vinaigre solution for cleansing

Then descending down a huge tunnel, I tied my animals near the stable
A passage to the left, shielded by a millstone, leads to the second level


The church’s here with a nave, an altar, and seating area along the walls
that are hand-painted with murals guiding us to stay away from the false 

Clearing the course swiftly to allow our fighters to brace for the attack
we hunker down the steep channel towards the crucial deck of our pack


The cellars, the winery, and the kitchen are active here on the third floor
But no one is sure, how long will we be here this time; a week or more?

Unlikely to be familiar with the terrain, we prayed that they would pass
after a methodical search, carrying with them, whatever they can amass

Our quarters were five stories below the land but air was not a concern
The chimneys circulated the air well and siphoned all the smoke in turn


Sitting in this maze of caverns and corridors, I asked my mama in despair
‘Why?’ ‘Well if the ants can live, so can we,’ she replied without any fear

The subterranean world whirred to life warily as she handed a pot to me
to fetch water from the well so that we could begin cooking immediately

Disclaimer - It is a work of fiction trying to imagine a day in the life of the Greek Cappadocians living in Kaymakli, trying to defend against the invaders by escaping into their underground city.

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