Writing

“Mother”, as I speak of her, evanesces from the mist of misery, from the veil of restrictions, and from the mud-layered smoky village walls that curtail her from the vivid hues of the modern world. But “mother”, the word and the form, portrays another scenario too--a greater one that relates us with nature. To be born as human is to be born with a relationship to mother earth. Yet, we realise little what we owe to her, of what we owe to the pains and sufferings that she has endured to nurture us. Our spiritual bond exceeds far beyond than that with a primal parent, for mother earth has suffered for a longer time.

Mother, I fear, will turn a stranger with the thirst, the hunger, the imprisonment and the nakedness that we subject her to. Instance by instance, she reveals herself as hurt, trampled, raped, pervaded, and killed every day.

Some people see in dreams. Some dream the reality. My photographer-colleague Kishor, instead portrays a nightmare--the suffering and the pain of mother earth via photographic inscriptions. He is a protagonist, and his images are tragic manifestations of the ecological crisis that envelops us. His are the cries of the fallen forests, the melting glaciers, the polluted air, the drying streams and the dying deserts. The languages that his images speak in are of love, concern, appreciation, and remorse.

The question that we, are left to answer is whether we are aware of the damage. Can we feel the guilt, the remorse, and the fear? We have harmed something that we love, something that we have known for ever and something that will always sustain us. We have hurt mother earth.

Perhaps someday, this guilt will stimulate reparation fantasies in us, but are we ready for this metaphorically and actually?

Photograph: Kishor Kayastha