That Beparvah Spirit...
That Beparvah spirit...
I hesitantly stepped into her front yard .. Almost guilty of trespassing .. I sort of tiptoed into the home that looked like in a mode of status quo .. As if in wait or in anticipation of something..As if silently still hoping for its kind mistress to get back... Waiting to hear that familiar click of gate..turn of keys..The newspaper of next day with her picture flashing on front page lying at her front door... Unattended .. Looking around.. I apprehensively look at the spot in the front yard where she perhaps collapsed with three bullets in her frail five feet "Half " inch body .. where she perhaps breathed her last before maybe giving that one final brave fight towards life and hope..
Feeling shaken..I tried to look away .. dragging my attention and thoughts away.. From the gruesome scene .. right there In front of me in that front yard..and braced myself to walk into her home..And there she was... Her yaadien..her moments .. .all there in front of me..she was in its hawa... As if floating around..every where ..she just passed me by hurriedly .. Rushing to usher out with steaming idlis from her kitchen...I turn and see her sitting in that cosy corner with her favourite book.. Oh ! Perhaps that was her reading corner .. I exclaimed to myself peering through the vast collection of non fiction and fiction I could sense.. ... I heard her rushing upstairs to hurriedly collect her drying clothes from the open roof..... Her cupboards were half open.. Maybe one door was left half ajar while she hurriedly left for work that morning..Her clothes still peep out from that opened cupboard wearing her distinct fragrances ..I try to divert myself.. Turn away only to find her right there again......Enjoying the dusk with a friend..with a quiet cup of coffee..with Beetles humming in the background.. There she is Watering the plants in her backyard.. Reading a book.. sitting on the parapet and just smoking...there again she was at her writing desk perhaps wording her next fiery editorial in Lankesh Patrike with no mincing of words against the communal and caste shambles in the country...her iron willed spirit and her fearless pen both lying side by side on her table.. As if waiting for her to get back and pick them again with same gusto and beparvahi..her free and just spirit palpable almost in everything and everywhere..as if it's in air.. I looked up .. Saw her throw back her head and laugh that free spirited laugh.. Though could also sense her kind eyes softening at minutest form of suffering or deprivation ,." Are you ok? I heard myself mumble to her.. She smiled gently " I am ok.. I am not gone anywhere..I am right here in mid of where my heart is.. Where I belong .. Amidst all.....all those candle marches and protest u organised for my murder..didn't u see me standing there in the last row ? Behind u all standing with a tiny candle of my own..smiling proudly at the young seeds of awakening and struggle that I could see rising .. My struggle continues through them... My ideological children will ably carry my lineage along I am sure of that.. She smiled then moved off saying bye " can't miss hearing my ideological children speak..,protest meeting in Press Club starts in few minutes from now .,, take care..".. I was about to mumble " u take care too"..then realized how futile it is to tell this to a fearless and beparvah spirit like her and gave up...
# was it a dream ? Did Gauri Lankesh visited my dreams or did I visit her fearless world .. Not sure.. U figure it out.. But she left me surely with Faiz Sb ki these lines -
Jis dhaj ( grandeur) se koi maqtal ( place of martyrdom) mien Gaya..Woh shaan salamat rehti hai..
Yeh jaan toh aani jaani hai.. Iss jaan ki toh koi baat Nahin...
I hesitantly stepped into her front yard .. Almost guilty of trespassing .. I sort of tiptoed into the home that looked like in a mode of status quo .. As if in wait or in anticipation of something..As if silently still hoping for its kind mistress to get back... Waiting to hear that familiar click of gate..turn of keys..The newspaper of next day with her picture flashing on front page lying at her front door... Unattended .. Looking around.. I apprehensively look at the spot in the front yard where she perhaps collapsed with three bullets in her frail five feet "Half " inch body .. where she perhaps breathed her last before maybe giving that one final brave fight towards life and hope..
Feeling shaken..I tried to look away .. dragging my attention and thoughts away.. From the gruesome scene .. right there In front of me in that front yard..and braced myself to walk into her home..And there she was... Her yaadien..her moments .. .all there in front of me..she was in its hawa... As if floating around..every where ..she just passed me by hurriedly .. Rushing to usher out with steaming idlis from her kitchen...I turn and see her sitting in that cosy corner with her favourite book.. Oh ! Perhaps that was her reading corner .. I exclaimed to myself peering through the vast collection of non fiction and fiction I could sense.. ... I heard her rushing upstairs to hurriedly collect her drying clothes from the open roof..... Her cupboards were half open.. Maybe one door was left half ajar while she hurriedly left for work that morning..Her clothes still peep out from that opened cupboard wearing her distinct fragrances ..I try to divert myself.. Turn away only to find her right there again......Enjoying the dusk with a friend..with a quiet cup of coffee..with Beetles humming in the background.. There she is Watering the plants in her backyard.. Reading a book.. sitting on the parapet and just smoking...there again she was at her writing desk perhaps wording her next fiery editorial in Lankesh Patrike with no mincing of words against the communal and caste shambles in the country...her iron willed spirit and her fearless pen both lying side by side on her table.. As if waiting for her to get back and pick them again with same gusto and beparvahi..her free and just spirit palpable almost in everything and everywhere..as if it's in air.. I looked up .. Saw her throw back her head and laugh that free spirited laugh.. Though could also sense her kind eyes softening at minutest form of suffering or deprivation ,." Are you ok? I heard myself mumble to her.. She smiled gently " I am ok.. I am not gone anywhere..I am right here in mid of where my heart is.. Where I belong .. Amidst all.....all those candle marches and protest u organised for my murder..didn't u see me standing there in the last row ? Behind u all standing with a tiny candle of my own..smiling proudly at the young seeds of awakening and struggle that I could see rising .. My struggle continues through them... My ideological children will ably carry my lineage along I am sure of that.. She smiled then moved off saying bye " can't miss hearing my ideological children speak..,protest meeting in Press Club starts in few minutes from now .,, take care..".. I was about to mumble " u take care too"..then realized how futile it is to tell this to a fearless and beparvah spirit like her and gave up...
# was it a dream ? Did Gauri Lankesh visited my dreams or did I visit her fearless world .. Not sure.. U figure it out.. But she left me surely with Faiz Sb ki these lines -
Jis dhaj ( grandeur) se koi maqtal ( place of martyrdom) mien Gaya..Woh shaan salamat rehti hai..
Yeh jaan toh aani jaani hai.. Iss jaan ki toh koi baat Nahin...
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