- a hot tea conversation-

When I was young, I dreamt of fearless love. I dreamt of happy families, long dinners, hot tea conversations brewing on the stove, and a fair god above. Those were the good days. In midst of the farm hays, We lay. Dreamt of life as it should be, simple, loved and free My mother, the lovely mother, cooked the stew that day. It was the comfort, I know. It tasted of the warmth, with which I had grown. Life was easy, back then. My mother tucked me in my bed by ten, didn't know what life was past then. This life was my own simple heaven. As time passed, I questioned my dreams, about what was actually supreme. A family with fruits to reap, or the fire in my heart that never lets me sleep. The fire was my art, it was theatre in my heart. It was all-consuming, I must say. This drive took me all the way. Difference faded between nights and days. Faces were cameras and cameras were faces. Who is the real me? I forget. It took me in its stride, and it was my might. Soon after, I found a love, beautiful and sweet but this passion could never meet, the love for my art so we grew apart. The love went away, left behind the mother I had become to a five-year-old son. The stuff gets real now, really real. Passion drives away. Drama becomes the bread, to the son I fed, of five the passion now barely keeps us alive. It becomes consuming now, really consuming. Questions, more questions. Doubts, more doubts. Empty stomachs are mightier than dreams, now, it is only about making ends meet. I want my son to study, to be better than the love that left or the mother that stayed. Why am I doing this? I often forget. It's tough to explain. When to dream becomes work and to work becomes the dream, I often scream. You did this to me, my work, you did this to me! It's for you the nights are lonely, and the love is scared, and it's for you the tea is burnt now of the conversations that never took place, and, it's for you the god above has been unfair. I am extra at times, a little extra. So,I pick myself up, for the passion that kills me and makes me feel alive, for the passion that screams, for the passion that now has only one dream. I'm a mother now, and it's without the camera this time. This is real, I know, for I have felt the warm glow, of a love that cannot be denied, and of a love that will not leave me behind, and for the love that keeps me alive. So I go on. It's not always my son, I act at times. For it's not easy being two at once, for it's not been easy not being loved for months. But, I promise my son, for my art has taught me, it's faith and belief that make you free, and I promise my son, to make you free, of a love that doesn't let your dreams breathe. To bring you closer to the passion that helps you fly, high in the sky Where happy families, long dinners, hot tea conversations, a fair god above, and the fire in your heart go side by side.

-Priyel Kumar

B.A. (Honours) History, Batch of 2024