Things flow. It is in the nature of things that they flow. Most things, unless they are turgid and turbid things, unless they are things clogged with such things that do not flow. Like clotted things. Clotted things kill. And they kill because they do not flow, they no longer do.
What flows, flows. What stops to flow, flows no longer and therefore, and thereafter, it becomes not a thing unfortunately, because we move away from things that have stopped to flow and move on to things that continue to flow. That is how it is, like it or lump it, such is life or the state of things. It is a hard and uncaring thing and it is often tough moving on but that is how it is. If you do not move on from things that have stopped to flow, you become part of what has ceased to flow. In other words, dead.
I do know the philosophy about death and all, the popular philosophy. That it is merely the body that dies. Or becomes part of panchatatva — earth, water, air, sky and space or shoonya. Isn’t that it, or am I wrong? I could be. I am human. I am not infallible. I am not always right. I am given to error. I am open to correction.
But we philosophise though we are not philosophy. We may aspire to it, or to understanding it, but philosophy is not what we are, we can never be, oh no! We are what we are. Perishable things made of blood and bone and muscle and whatever else. Tendons? Ligaments? Joints and fluids that make joints what they are? What else? How would I know? I studied history and history told me that eventually all of what begins comes to an end. Right? Arrey baba, you disagree? Carry on, I am heading off, resolve your errors and realise what’s right.
Where were we? As often, we’ve forgotten. As often, we need to recall because we have digressed.
But lo! There’s a problem. We’ve digressed for sure but which way must we go in order not to digress? I see three openings here in front of me as we flow. This river and its looming breadth, and then river two and then river three. I am on one river, but I could be on three. One to the left. One to the right. And in the middle me. Where are we to go? Are we to meet? Or are we to meet and kiss each other and go our ways again. Wet kisses, they’d have to be, slobbered, because all we have is water and more water and water whooping along to meet other waters.
Such sadness! Such sadness it is to have to say this. About waters. Our waters. Their waters. Although the waters, they meet seamlessly and remain waters and no more. They do not have passports or ID cards, they flow sans barriers, they stop not to be examined or detained. They flow not to be frowned upon or wished away. Such waters am I tonight astride, such waters are what we might want to define our ways and lives with.
Nadiya aaye kahan se
Nadiya jaaye kahan re
Paani me jaise
Dhoop chhaaon re!