Monday, October 20, 2008

After the last strains of the jhinjhoti faded, and your fingers were still, that’s when the voices must have taken over, insidious and clamoring. Now only the good pieces remain, like rich embroidery on a kutchi shawl; a million lustrous, bright threads, a pattern that seems different every time you look at it- and there were so many- then the patchy, worn backdrop does not matter. It really is all about naav- nadi- sanjog. Peace, that’s all that remains.