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11.8.20 - Migrations

Migrations of any kind, whether due to drought, plague, or historical events, are always difficult. Asking those who have migrated in the past or gone back in time to places they once lived, they will tell you of the challenges they faced with new faces in old places and feeling like strangers in their former homes. Reflecting on the past, which is frozen and unchanging unlike the present, can also be a difficult meditation, bringing on pensive moods like the gathering of monsoon clouds. Migrating across years through time is also tough, as shown through the example of a son not remembering his mother's mother in the kitchen from his childhood, bringing sadness to his own mother's face.

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EKANSH DANGAYACH 20212619
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46 views1 page

11.8.20 - Migrations

Migrations of any kind, whether due to drought, plague, or historical events, are always difficult. Asking those who have migrated in the past or gone back in time to places they once lived, they will tell you of the challenges they faced with new faces in old places and feeling like strangers in their former homes. Reflecting on the past, which is frozen and unchanging unlike the present, can also be a difficult meditation, bringing on pensive moods like the gathering of monsoon clouds. Migrating across years through time is also tough, as shown through the example of a son not remembering his mother's mother in the kitchen from his childhood, bringing sadness to his own mother's face.

Uploaded by

EKANSH DANGAYACH 20212619
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
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Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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Migrations

- Keki Daruwalla
Migrations are always difficult:
ask any drought,
any plague;
ask the year 1947.
Ask the chronicles themselves:
if there had been no migrations
would there have been enough
history to munch on?

Going back in time is also tough.


Ask anyone back-trekking to Sargodha
or Jhelum or Mianwali and they'll tell you.
New faces among old brick;
politeness, sentiment,
dripping from the lips of strangers.
This is still your house, Sir.

And if you meditate on time


that is no longer time -
(the past is frozen, it is stone,
that which doesn't move
and pulsate is not time) -
if you meditate on that scrap of time,
the mood turns pensive
like the monsoons
gathering in the skies
but not breaking.

Mother used to ask, don't you remember my mother?


You'd be in the kitchen all the time
and run with the fries she ladled out,
still sizzling on the plate.
Don't you remember her at all?
Mother's fallen face
would fall further
at my impassivity.
Now my dreams ask me
If I remember my mother
And I am not sure how I'll handle that.
Migrating across years is also difficult.

[From: The Map-maker]

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