No matter how many languages you say it in, this word does something for all of us.
I am talking about light. When I was small, I think the one word that signified both relief and horror (depending on whether my sister was switching it on or off in a room) was 'alo', the bengali word for light. Back in Bhubaneswar, the small town my father's family is settled in, summer mornings were eagerly looked forward to. Not just for the opportunity to tailgate my grandfather as he went about picking flowers in our garden, but to be immersed in the lemon-white milk that bathed the garden. There was an immense feeling of being overwhelmed those summers at 7 am and no words will help me explain this to you. The previous night's dew lay in its last moments, lighting up the lower blades of grass in a sparkling green hue and the sun streamed through coconut leaves, cutting myriads of shadows and shapes interspersed with light onto everything beneath it. Magical to say the least.
And in those summer evenings, I slept next to my grandpa or 'dadu' as we grand-daughters fondly referred to him. Out in the garden on his army cot beneath the open sky. The moon shone down upon the entire foliage surrounding us, converting everything into dark silhouettes. The light coming through the mosquito net which covered us, lit my skin in a strange bluish hue.
When I was close to 9, I would lay mortified in my bed till well past midnight, imagining shapes and unknown fears waiting for me to close my eyelids and then pounce upon me. In those silent and painful hours, my mother's late night washroom trip was an immense relief. As her door streamed light through the common corridor, I felt comforted and called out to her. A call of assurance later, I was finally able to fall asleep. There were also nights were I left the light in my room switched on till wee hours of the morning when my father finally discovered his daughter's once again cowardly act. I would get an amused chuckle from baba at the breakfast table. Later that week, I began lighting candles and falling asleep. Chuckles gave way to a sound tongue-lashing. Fire hazard anyone? Light was a precious luxury for me in those insomniac years.
Growing older and finding love, some of the above light forms and tinges made for significant memories. The evening where my first school sweetheart and I sat in a children's playground located on a hill watching the orange sun light up the sky, dipping further and further until the wild pink flowers turned violet and my friend's face acquired a character I hadn't seen before.
Candles again, this time my 22rd birthday spent with a different boy... dare I say man. Candles, despite the fact that the angry afternoon sun pounded upon the world outside. We hid ourselves in the cool interiors and danced away in the light our smiles shone in...that light had promises of an adventurous and happy relationship. But then again, we learn more of the people we love as time progresses. And then it's time to leave them onto the sidelines as you move ahead ...for yourself.
And more recently, when the old scars filled up, an old friend emerged as a new companion. Late one night, in suburbian Mumbai, on one of my last trips to the city before I left the country, we sat next to each other typing out the inner recesses of our minds onto his blog, still unsure and shy of communicating our affection for each other. The light from his laptop glowed intensely into the goblets of our wine. It lit up our faces, lighting up a hope that was still timid yet felt stronger than the shadows cast upon the wall. I"ll never forget that night, even if I have to forget the months that followed it. I"ll hold onto snatches of that memory like the morning light, a few hours later which jolted me from my slumber only to reveal a face smiling down at me.
And then Syracuse. A new friend in a new country and our first outdoor venture together. Late this August, Jackie and I hiked up into the hills, two hours away from Syracuse. Discovering a quite stream tucked behind the greenery, we took off our shoes and lay upon the gnarling mushroom infested logs that bridged one end of the stream to the other. And what a sight it was. Looking up, the sun shone through faintly, fettered by all the dense foliage. The water bubbled and had this steel like resonance to it and in that silence, my eyes spotted the light reflected by the water onto the ferns above my head. It was an ethereal moment that only willderness can provide to one's soul.
My fascination with light has only grow stronger since the past few months, this time at a more creative level.
Which brings me to how much I love light and light in the night, in the streets, in the cities. Shooting in Mumbai for my short film last December at 4 am in the morning at Lower Parel, I was mesmerised by the symmetry of street lamps in my frame. That one shot made that effort - of undertaking an entire project on more enthusiasm than financial backing - totally worth it. This year 'The Records that those Pavements Keep' was selected to be screened in the Mumbai Shorts competitive category at the Mumbai International Film Festival.
I walked the streets of New York today mostly downtown and Theatre District losing my way close to Colombus Square and walking an extra 40 minutes all the way back to where I should have initially turned. And even for those who have heard the romanticism about New York, for the nth time, one MUST MUST walk its streets in the evening and at night. As an amateur photographer, I can't help but stop every time I see light in it's various forms here. In the ordinary neon signs, the frosted electronic hues that christmas decorations cast on the street or simply the light that shines remotely in the distance, a glimmering hope as it were, that walking further to find out more will be worth it.
To luminescence. I hope this journey with light never ends.
