THE MANY JOURNEYS

November, 2021

Waddling inside a small boat this evening on the Yamuna, I watch myriad journeys intersect in a ripple of beginnings, endings and middles.

All around me are hundreds of Siberian Seagulls which have flown thousands of kilometers to escape a mortal winter.

They swoop down in a frenzied tangle of snowy feathers when the boatman calls out ‘aao … aao’ and throws them a fistful of fried nibbles.

Three boats, each filled with an eager-to-wed couple and a film crew, glide by.

A director arranges the gazes and cuddles, and a voyeuristic drone chronicles the choreographed intimacies. Screeching seagulls become filmic backdrop.

Amorous can get absurd.

To my south is the grand Old Iron Bridge. To my north is the young concrete Yudhister Setu. They’ve both been busy expediting the future.

In between is Nigambodh Ghat, busy consummating the past, turning it into smoke, ash and metaphor.

This sliver of river - gulls, ghats, bridges, boats, bodies - is a confluence of eros and chaos, instinct and pretence, death and myth.

Yamuna is after all Yami, the twin of Yamadev, the Lord of the Afterlife.

Between the siblings, they watch us all: Some setting sail, some dropping anchor, and others folding up their masts forever.

~*~