Today1, the moon was a bit more than half visible, like a smooth rock by the trail to Triund. I couldn’t figure out what to do with it. Sit on it, and I would slide right off. Maybe I could lie on it face down with my arms wide, almost like I was hugging it. I couldn’t tell from Dharamkot just how slippery the moon was, but if it wasn’t too bad, lying down could work.
Most nights, Ania and I sit on the porch and look at the moon. “What are you thinking about?” she asked me yesterday.
Some of these nights, no words are exchanged, though there are smiles and air kisses. I wonder if this silence is a pleasant comfort or if we have nothing to say.
“Just following those headlights in the trees”, I said, pointing at a car snaking down the mountain roads below Tushita.
Yesterday, the moon was half full, as you would expect — entirely predictable. To me, it looked like a bowl full of love. On such nights, I secretly reach in and grab some and throw it everywhere like rice. It’s nice. You might wonder how I do this, considering the moon is thousands of kilometres away and my arms are only a few feet long. What can I say? Try it out, and you’ll see.
Women and men in Iran have been fighting for their freedom for the last few months. I asked some women I had met when I was in Iran if I could write about them. They are all protesting for their country, but they said No because they do not feel safe sharing publicly. One girl told me her brother was arrested while protesting, but she will continue. “We have nothing left to lose in Iran because the Iranian people have nothing”, she told me.
The moon is half empty there, maybe.
The day before that, the moon was a comfortable crescent, like a fancy chair hanging from a balcony ceiling. I imagined myself sitting on it, my back resting against the curve nicely and my hanging from the sides. It was a pleasant thought, but look where I’m sitting now. What could be better than sitting next to the person you love and staring at the moon?
The day before the comfortable crescent, it was a sharp crescent. I wonder if the blood in the sky cleared enough for the Iranian people to see a crescent of purity and freedom. I do hope so.
Love, distance, comfort, boredom, smiles, and joy. An escape into ourselves: that’s what sitting on a porch and looking at the moon is.
Last week
#24: The Moon in Dharamkot
Beautifully expressed!
Poetic, whimsical and heartfelt writing Pritam. Well done!