Democracy of the Forest

Much before this article I write here, things have been written about Pollution and Deforestation. Journals, Periodicals, Research publications and even poetry has been written, recorded and preserved for the future to realize the era of our gravest mistakes. However, much less would be written in the future to come, for their would be very less poetry and research that would dedicated to the whistling of the woods. As I fear there will not be any woods left, or deep jungles with their whispering swaying leaves, passing on the secrets of the elders to the unfortunate species that we are. Somehow I feel, no matter how feeble my voice may be, I ought to whisper if not to others at least to myself so that I do not forget this day when I try to record my thoughts that has crossed the embankment of uncertainity. 

I wish the trees could form a democratic government of their own, may be elect a Big Banyan tree as their leader who could speak of the atrocities carried on upon them, day in day out by us humans, irrespective of our race, class or location. He must try to stop us from this exponential degree of madness. I do not need the IPCC or the government to assure me of the tyranny of smoke filled air. The air I breathe is filled with black smoke oozing out from industries. The landscape of this garden is changing. The trees are silent. The birds are trying to escape from this prison flying around the world to unknown destinations for food and solace. The bees have stopped pollinating. The tigers are on the verge of extinction. Elephants confront humans and witness their own destruction and the depletion of their territory. The vultures have started encircling the carcass of rotting bodies and filth, the river is parched and sparsely existent and the mighty hills of old have turned bald and grey. A town of peasants and small time traders is held hostage to the rising smoke from ever corner of growing chimneys and conveyor belts. The industries are sucking out the oxygen from the air we breathe. Eventually they will reach there in wiping out the last traces of life from us. And before they do that they would have killed us many times over. The industry never sleeps. The caps never come down. The shoulders seek no rest. For the ones who suffer, there is concern in the air. There is concern for the changing landscape. There is an alarming concern for the children of tomorrow. The scenic beauty, the river, the water canal with trees and acres of paddy fields are slowly disappearing with the changing times. The roofs have turned raven. The leaves, alas have withered not with the change of season but with sadness. A walk in the evening alongside the water canal in Burla is all it takes to see the treachery in the air.  

I wish the trees could alter their genes and speak before the beacon of hope extinguishes forever on this lonely planet. 

RN

Towards the Future: A small article.

What do you allow to grip your mind? Is it Ambition, Fear, Love, Lust, Peace, Pain, Paradise, Death, Family, Job, Freedom or is it something else? Do you live in a self created Limbo where objects are aligned accordingly or does it follow the Brownian Motion? How would it appear, your mind, if you were to stand out of it for a while and be able to stare into it? Would you want to make any changes to it? May be add a few more bytes of memory or may be erase some? Our memories are infinite unlike a computer's memory, but would you still want it to be infinite? How about deleting some junk, some hurtful moments and adding joy that we so cherished in our childhood? 

When you see a hungry child wandering through the rubble for a morsel of food, what does it evoke in you? Guilt? Disdain? Emptiness? How about a swanky car passing by the child evoke in you? Delight, Adrenalin? And what does a diamond necklace in the safety of a bank locker mean to you? Pride? Possession? Ancestry? Cherished relic? 

Let's delete all this. Its too abstract. It is too mundane. Now lets add something better. It is the same child but he is no more on a heap of rubble foraging through the filth for food. Instead he is now in foster care. He just had his dinner and now he is reading Charles Dickens's Oliver Twist under the bed light, yes, he has a bed now, a roof over his head and some clean clothes to wear which he washes himself. He looks healthy, happy and he has friends too, some like him, others a bit different. He relates himself to the suffering of Oliver Twist and prays to the almighty for the wonderful life ahead. He hopes his dark past is left behind him forever. It seems he has a future to look forward to and he dreams of an adventure of similar kind. How did it happen? How was he transformed from a slum child into someone who could dream of contributing to the future of this country?

He thanked God, but unknown to him, it was you who made all this possible. A simple choice to act. A trifle contribution made by you has kindled hope in a child's life. How does it make you feel to dream of being the pivot of the generations to come? Let this thought grip your mind for a while. Let it linger. Let it merge and be a part of you.

Lets contribute to a better future-