Remembering Gatsby
At
the western tip in the island’s night,
Bereft
of stars, bereft of light
I
stared at a sea I couldn’t see,
I
breathed the emptiness inside me
The
saving grace was a distant beam
A
saber of gold, a lighthouse gleam
The
world reminding, there’s something to fight –
A
ray of hope, a distant light
But
even there, the truth had a lie,
It
came, it went, in the blink of an eye
As
if, the earth will give – but not all you need
If
you ask for a tree, you’ll find a seed…
____________________________________________
Of
all the thoughts that I left behind,
It
was Gatsby great who came to mind,
His
light in green across the bay,
Always
there, but so far away
Where
every tale has a Daisy bloom,
A
spark of light in a sea of gloom,
Come,
disappear as you please,
Or
bestow some hope across the seas
Just
like the lighthouse spark of gold
A
tropic of warmth in a bay of cold
You
can stretch your arms as far as you can,
The
light spills out, uncaught by man
____________________________________________
At
the western edge, on the island Neil,
The
seas run black, no longer teal,
When
darkness falls, it’s all the same
The
tidal swell, or the lagoon’s that tamed
But
from farther west, see Port Blair’s light,
A
flicker pale, in an inky night
The
lighthouse calls like a distant star –
You
can come back now, you have gone too far
There’s
desolation too in the smell of peace –
Detachment
in the cerulean seas,
A
handful few find themselves back
The
others stare at the lighthouse track…
____________________________________________
In
my sojourns in the Andaman, I had landed at Neil and was privileged to stay at the
westernmost point of the Island. Perched on the cliffs overlooking the white
sandiness of Laxmanpur Beach, I saw fabulous sunsets, incredible sunrises, I
found art strewn in the dying blanched driftwood as much as in the wooden
pillars of Mahua life. I saw from far, the emeraldine cliffs of Havelock and
even farther away, barely discernible line that was the South Andaman Island.
And yet, the scene that stole my heart was none of these – in a pitch-black no
moon night, I stared towards Port Blair and saw an ochre lighthouse gleam at
night, reminding as if that its not all emptiness, even the lands here have their
share of stellar joy. I spent almost an hour standing on the cliff top, staring
at the twinkling light, and hearing the calming chorus of the sea, many a
thought running through my mind. Predominantly, that of Gatsby, the Great
Gatsby and his tantalising green light from his beloved Daisy’s dock. In that
moment of philosophy, I wondered if all of us had a Gatsby inside, yearning
agonisingly for that green light, disappearing and re-appearing in the mists of
life. For some perhaps, it is quite distinct. For others, perhaps, that green
light has been hid or lost in the fogs of everyday, and they wait for that
moment, when they find a proxy - perhaps a shimmering star or a beckoning lighthouse,
and that green unreachable light comes back all over again. Lost and found, hid
and recovered, just like the glimmer of a lighthouse from far, far away…
17th
May. 2024
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