the umbilical cord

A friend is writing somewhere. And me, I am writing as well,here. It is amazing, and curious, the way people are connected, by some line of thought, some similar gestures, some dreams shared, or even strangers, by an inexplicable unknown connection. The way I worry about having not met a friend for a year, and keep on planning, when unknowingly somewhere else she says the same thing, and shares the same emotion. The way we pick up the phone to make a call, and the screen flashing with the name of the one we were about to call.


The connection between two living souls, that starts with as real a thing as the umbilical cord. The yellowish-white coloured, slimy and slippery, thick thread like thing, that connected me to my mother's womb, when I dint have a name, and was simply called, an 'embryo' or even dull, a 'fetus'. My sense of belonging to her, sweetly, yet scientifically established and let known to the world, by a slime cord, through a well known doctoral reason of nutrition. My life growing, inside her, through the nourishment, passing to me from her, through that narrow passage way, with all the love and prayers she said for me since the day i was recognized inside her. The cord, the beautiful connection, set up perfectly by the nature, the palpable, long thing, that was cut, the day i was out, but ever since re-established in unknown forms and ways, through our getting to know each other, as life passes by between me and my mother.


The one, that started from her womb, and started growing, like a seedling that sprouts, grows leaves, gets size and spreads outs in infinite branches, making me reach out to the world, and life around - connections, between living souls, between people. I thus believe in them. As, something that passes between you and me, without ever worrying to lay by the rules of the world. That exists, without even a touch, or exchange of any arbit thing, the sense of something that hits the same notes in the mind's music instrument, at two places at once, in each other's hearts. That harmony, which generates the same emotions, pleasure and peace, helping us get a better light in the path to go, or someone to go with. A joy of having found a mirror, that reflects the picture, just the way it is. The relief of having a brother or sister, or having found a friend, or a kin, or even a stranger, a fellow to go with even if only for one quarter of the journey, who makes us feel belonged, even for that minute time.


The things that are afloat, all around us, like a fine movie scene in which innumerable colourful butterflies fly around the beautiful girl. To open our mind and hearts, and see, and accept, as long as we are blessed enough with the fine and refined gift of one of the five elaborate senses. Like those light waves that meet somewhere in the back of your eyes to give you the splendid vision of the splash of colours in front of you. That which you do not always see working its way out, but which was always there, giving you life.


The connections that are unspeakables. Or in other ways, are intricate and unfathomable in ways that it defeats you, in your endeavour to put it in a sunken case of carefully created definition,or of christening. Those deeper connections, which are best left unsaid and are "let it b"s. Those which you acknowledge, in subtle ways, through a quick and awkward hug at end of a term together. Those which had never been justified by the guarded, and slow exchange of carefully chosen words, in a pathetically failed attempt of acceptance. Those which you sometimes, first realize accidentally and learn to cherish for a lifetime. Those which are at times, foolishly gratified by a quick node of the head, a slight fleeting glance, a rough grunt of the throat or a sly smile. The connections, that seemed heavenly and perfect, but had been left to abandon in the way of the world, as you decide that life has to gone on, but by obediently following the strictures. And those promising others, that lets us fly, soaring in the sky.



And as long as we have this, as long as this exists, this sharing, this brotherhood or kinship, and belonging, to anyone and anything in this world, we can't give up.
The connection, that holds us back, like the indefinitely long thread of a sky bound kite,fondly linked to the child's playful hands. The child, who sees the world beneath it that the kite sees, the same world from a view high up above through the kite's own eyes, and who runs on the beach, in his childlike enthusiasm, to let it fly to its wanted unknowns of the limitless skies. As long as I have this child and I can be the kite, or as long as i could be alive in the child's eyes vice versa, the world, is thrilling, and so very beautiful that I can never give up.