Sometimes we experience an acute longing for something elusive...we feel its absence keenly but can't quite name it. It is dissatisfaction with life as is, coupled with helplessness. Life isn’t quite unbearable just... unexciting, perhaps. How can we alter something that has changed quietly on us without any obvious markers? Our contentment has splintered but we don’t see the bits since the pieces for all appearances seem whole. Trapped in a limbo state, we are crippled by our powerlessness to do anything. There are short moments of joy experienced in little things but unsustainable.
During such times I go back to moments in the past and linger awhile. I think of days when I just as keenly felt a sense of contentment and pure joy in the awareness of my own existence. I have felt the finitude and insignficance of my own life and the magnitude and all-pervasiveness of the universe simultaneously. It is at once frightening and exhilarating. These are moments that I term 'romantic' in the tradition of Wordsworth and Coleridge who have expressed in their poetry the terror and joy that they in their encounters with nature had experienced.
The first time I experienced it was in Calcutta in the year 2000. I had just completed my Master's degree in English and wanted a break from academics so that I could weigh my career options carefully and decide what direction my life would take. That wasn't the first time I was visiting the city. I had been there twice before but many years had passed since then.
I usually stay with my ancle and aunt when I visit Calcutta. My aunt sensed that I was in a restless and confused state and suggested to my uncle that he must get me out of the house. My uncle insisted that I visit Belur Math. It was my atheist days and I certainly did not want to visit religious sites. What I remember quite vividly about the visit was the boat journey we undertook on the Ganges from the Math to the Dakshineshwar temple. It was a trip that lasted 20 - 30 minutes. Dusk was grudgingly giving reins to late evening. My uncle and I got into the boat. It was manually oared and the passengers sat wherever they found a spot. I sat on the floor of the boat and could feel a kindred restlessness in the water.
There was a moon that had not quite reached its fullness but was growing with anticipation. Once the boat had been pushed into somewhat deeper waters, the oarsmen rigorously worked to transport us from one shore to another. I was aware of the chatter around me but was shrouded in a semi-darkness and seclusion not unlike that in a movie theater where the consciousness of being surrounded by people begins to dim as one begins to willingly get wrapped in the threads of the plot. I could only hear the sound of the oars and the water pushing and pulling alternatively, like lovers engaged in a power struggle. The moon was trying to arbitrate and got scattered for its efforts.
As darkness slowly extended its arms around the sky, I looked up at the twinkling stars. The night sky looked like a dark grey, almost black dupatta with sparkling white stones sprinkled across. Suddenly a bridge loomed overhead and we passed quietly and humbly from under its protective shadow. It was the Vivekananda bridge. I found it a thrilling experience to see the bridge approach and to pass under it. There was a stillness, a serenity that I felt surround me. All conversations tapered off as everyone fell quiet, awed by the poignancy of the moment. I felt like I was all alone that moment becoming one with the sky and the stars, the cloud and the moon and participating in the eternal and the divine. Something in me tells me I will never get to repeat the sublime experience in this lifetime.
During such times I go back to moments in the past and linger awhile. I think of days when I just as keenly felt a sense of contentment and pure joy in the awareness of my own existence. I have felt the finitude and insignficance of my own life and the magnitude and all-pervasiveness of the universe simultaneously. It is at once frightening and exhilarating. These are moments that I term 'romantic' in the tradition of Wordsworth and Coleridge who have expressed in their poetry the terror and joy that they in their encounters with nature had experienced.
The first time I experienced it was in Calcutta in the year 2000. I had just completed my Master's degree in English and wanted a break from academics so that I could weigh my career options carefully and decide what direction my life would take. That wasn't the first time I was visiting the city. I had been there twice before but many years had passed since then.
I usually stay with my ancle and aunt when I visit Calcutta. My aunt sensed that I was in a restless and confused state and suggested to my uncle that he must get me out of the house. My uncle insisted that I visit Belur Math. It was my atheist days and I certainly did not want to visit religious sites. What I remember quite vividly about the visit was the boat journey we undertook on the Ganges from the Math to the Dakshineshwar temple. It was a trip that lasted 20 - 30 minutes. Dusk was grudgingly giving reins to late evening. My uncle and I got into the boat. It was manually oared and the passengers sat wherever they found a spot. I sat on the floor of the boat and could feel a kindred restlessness in the water.
There was a moon that had not quite reached its fullness but was growing with anticipation. Once the boat had been pushed into somewhat deeper waters, the oarsmen rigorously worked to transport us from one shore to another. I was aware of the chatter around me but was shrouded in a semi-darkness and seclusion not unlike that in a movie theater where the consciousness of being surrounded by people begins to dim as one begins to willingly get wrapped in the threads of the plot. I could only hear the sound of the oars and the water pushing and pulling alternatively, like lovers engaged in a power struggle. The moon was trying to arbitrate and got scattered for its efforts.
As darkness slowly extended its arms around the sky, I looked up at the twinkling stars. The night sky looked like a dark grey, almost black dupatta with sparkling white stones sprinkled across. Suddenly a bridge loomed overhead and we passed quietly and humbly from under its protective shadow. It was the Vivekananda bridge. I found it a thrilling experience to see the bridge approach and to pass under it. There was a stillness, a serenity that I felt surround me. All conversations tapered off as everyone fell quiet, awed by the poignancy of the moment. I felt like I was all alone that moment becoming one with the sky and the stars, the cloud and the moon and participating in the eternal and the divine. Something in me tells me I will never get to repeat the sublime experience in this lifetime.
2 comments:
J, you write so well. The post has a very mellow and nostalgic feel which completely soaked me. I am now dripping wet with the romance that was exuded from your post.
Waiting for Part II.
Joy always,
Susan
Very well expressed Jay- can't wait to read the rest.
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