Aug 17, 2004


Got back from my trip to Madurai and further south. Acres of flat disconsolate plains, with no rolling hills, no meandering streams, no greenery followed me throughout. So did the scorching, relentless sun, burning, draining the energy. The black "karisal" soil, sometimes ploughed, seemed to wait with infinite patience looking upto the sky for the saving rains. I could not identify the emotion that overwhelmed me. There was a certain bleakness about it, something very pitiable. Yet it seemed vibrant.

Madurai is just the same. The village pretending to be a town. The temple gopurams are completely hidden amidst taller hotels. Everything has layers of dust. The marvelous stone scultpures still remain callously neglected or worse, lustreless by the oil and holy ash smears. And I noticed the fingers of my favourite sculpture broken. The useless rage that shook me concluded in a solitary tear drop.

August 17, 2004