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Coming Home

Finally, she's coming home.
To where it all began, back to her earth.
For once the seeds in the pod she's buried with,
Bursts with her life,
She shall grow to the heights of the sky,
And the vastness of the horizon,
As a Vaaka that bears no fruits,
But only blooms of vermilion and scarlet reds.

Her branches shall spread wide,
To find his dainty fingers,
Also blooming into a Gulmohar.

They shall bleed together with adjacent canopies,
And then, she would be home.

Traveling to the south of Kerala for the occasional summer visit to my grandparents, the most exciting sights for me were (1) the point of merge of the backwaters and sea in Thottappally, Alappuzha and (2) the wide branches of Gulmohars (vaaka, in Malayalam) casting their shadows and laughter in red, over the national highway. Bright red flowers flourishing in the middle of scorching summers and balmy afternoons while everything else around them were brown and dehydrated, the vaaka’s celebration of life through their astounding blooms cast a mark in me so deeply that I chose my artist name as Vaaka Bhadra.

I don’t remember when I decided that I wanted to literally grow into a Gulmohar, but the concept of burial pods with their seeds is how I want to finally go. This painting is a reminder of that decision, when I’m buried in the pod once human consciousness comes to an end, I shall grow into a vaaka-consciousness and blush with red flowers for the next Bhadra.

Burial pod. Original illustration, inspired from the makers of the Capsula Mundi project.

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