Tags:
Journalism of Courage
Eternity in a flower
Last month two tiny events occurred with me which were linked by one thing. Both of them made me think again about my way of seeing. And they made me think that the way in which we see the world physically is perhaps a good representation of how we see it altogether.
The first was during a play staged by the National School of Drama. It was an arresting and moving production of Ibsen8217;s The Wild Duck, directed by Anuradha Kapur. The moment I am talking about came during a film clip that was a part of the production. The clip, which was in black and white, showed a flock of wild ducks rising from the water, their wing-beats made slower and more exquisite by the skillful dissolve of the camera.
Later, on speaking to the maker of that clip, Ein Lall, I learnt that the scene had been photographed at Delhi8217;s Okhla Barrage. Well, I pass the Okhla Barrage routinely, always with the assumption that I couldn8217;t be passing anything worth seeing.
The second little revelation came while taking our dog for a walk. Owing to a paucity of walks in our area we are sometimes compelled to struggle through a particularly nasty by-lane. The municipal authorities had dug up most of it, placed large pipes on the side, scattered a few drums about for good measure, and is now thinking calmly what to do next.
Somewhere in this scene of devastation, the Central Reserve Police Force had pitched two pint-sized tents, and occasionally a policeman peeps out from underneath. A few days ago, while pondering whether to jump over a sludge-filled hole, take my chance across a forest of pipes, or trace a path through a pile of bricks, I saw that the little scene that morning, glowed with unexpected beauty. Because each of the two tents was adorned on the outside by a flowerpot overflowing with yellow chrysanthemums.
Undaunted by their surroundings, unaware of the fact known to you and me that Delhi is a disgrace and nothing will ever change, two stout mustachioed policemen had defied the world and set up their flowerpots in a sea of sludge. It was as moving as suddenly coming upon a Van Gogh.
It was also as humbling. I feel that I have to thank the two invisible policemen for reminding me that if you look attentively enough at the scene around you, a crack appears in it through which you glimpse Possibility.Futehally is the author of Tara Lane8217; and In the Dark of the Heat 8212; Songs of Meera8217;.
