This story is about a flood that swept through half an acre worth of families and faults in the old 1980's.
Six and a half villages it ate, and thousand of young lives it ate.
When the flood breached the first village, villagers ran to where they thought they'd be safest.
Some people bolted their door shut and prayed for the best.
The flood will surely spare the homes where love and longing has taken roots for generations, they said.
And the flood came and ate them all the same.
Some people took shelter in the nearest school.
The flood will surely spare the hallowed grounds where a thousand footsteps of kids resound with every morning bell, they said.
And the flood came and ate them all the same.
Some people hid inside the panchayat block office.
The flood surely won't harm the place where justice is imparted with every stroke of the pen, they said.
And the flood came and ate them all the same.
Some people rushed into the nearest temple.
The flood dare not touch the abode of Gods, they said.
And the flood came rushing, like a pack of wolves wet with sweat and saliva that smelt like predators, and ate them all the same.
After short intervals of fruitless lapses of time in the lives of men, there comes a tide that threatens to change things now and then.
This tide in the affairs of men, comes unsuspecting, and touches our lives into ripples that shake our beliefs and turn them anew.
This tide laps at our ankles gently at first, then grows till we wash our hands in it, and grows further till we dip our heads into the smothering water and come up gasping for breath, only to find ourselves as a new man.
This tide whispers into our ears and talks about our insecurities and soothes our fears and acts like an old friend.
This tide tells us about things we never knew we needed, about things that were buried so deep inside us we were afraid digging it up would make us into dinosaurs again.
This tide talks loud enough for us to know and to believe that we are all deprived of something, but not clear enough for us to know what.
The tide in the affairs of men, grows out of our hopelessness and desires.
We stoke it by opening our minds to it. We feed it with what we think is our worth.
The tide in the lives of men, washes us ashore as it advances through lands and valleys, and everywhere it goes, more men are changed and more men are birthed again.
How it changes us, is given to our own choices.
But what the tide is capable of, truly, is to take us in its waters and make us anew.
The self obsessed thinks the tide pertains only to him.
The self aware thinks the tide doesn't concern him.
The truth is, the tide, like the flood of the eighties, takes in all there is to in its path.
The rich, the influential, the powerful. The poor, the hungry, the sad.
How we all rise up to life again, is what we have to decide.
For now, we could hold our breath.
For now, we could not let the water fill our lungs.
For now, we could only hope.
[ In-house Artist: Isha Yadav]
