VOICES OF CARBON
Exploring carbon through multiple voices, forms, and futures.
A collection of writing by the Capturing Carbon Cohort of 2024
Edited by Jay Barber
Produced by Science Gallery Bengaluru with the support of the United States-India Education Foundation Fellowship
Preface:
The writing on display here is the culmination of a workshop titled ‘Capturing Carbon’ designed to explore the intersection of creative writing and science. Participants learned about the writing of narrative nonfiction, poetry, and fiction while also learning ways to utilize the science of carbon in their writing. The course invited students to push their thinking about carbon and to learn new writing skills while also working collaboratively and sharing their own expertise. Over the 12 weeks of the workshop, the participants discussed carbon’s allotropes: graphene, graphite, diamond, charcoal, nanotubes, and Buckminsterfullerene (an allotrope I love just for the poetic potential of the word). They learned about carbon formally through class readings and guest speakers, but mostly the learning came through participant interaction as they discussed ideas to merge science and art and shared their creative projects with each other. Each participant contributed their knowledge and interest to the class in a way that created a science writing ecosystem enriched from many sources.
Along with conversations regarding the formal aspects of carbon, the class also engaged in conceptual inquiry about the 6th element. The participants noted that carbon had become an unfair “villain” in the human conversation because of carbon dioxide’s association with greenhouse gasses and climate change. They noted how the ubiquity of carbon makes it hard to talk about– so much of our experience is carbon-based: plants use carbon, soil needs carbon, we write and paint with carbon, we use carbon fiber. Carbon helps us ferment our food and make our drinks fizzy. Carbon literally holds us together and leaves us with every breath. The participants noted that the requirement to write about carbon in creative writing was a challenge, yet it was this challenge that pushed them to explore new paths of science communication and to develop new ideas on the way science interfaces with creativity. This course then pushed the already versatile element into a new form: Carbon became a creative constraint for the writers.
A creative constraint is a limit or a set of rules that dictates the subject or form of an artistic endeavor. Research on artistic constraints shows that artists come up with more creative ideas under constraints than when they are told to just “create anything.” My experience with this cohort of writers has supported that research. With carbon as a necessary focus these writers had to stretch their creative and writing skills. They asked questions like: how can I write a poem about carbon that is informative but also interesting? What experience in my life might intersect with carbon and allow me to write compelling narrative nonfiction? How might one write a philosophical inquiry about the ontological nature of carbon? What scenarios do I need to develop in a short story that will allow me to weave carbon into the plot in a way that gets my reader thinking about real science?
In working with this group of writers, I have come to understand that an interest in creative writing can be a motivator for engagement with science, and that an interest in communicating science can be a motivator for engaging with creative writing. Much like carbon moving from soil to plants to air, I found the connections in this class moving from science to writer to creativity back to science to writer and so on. In this series of creative pieces, writers have included carbon in the form of kohl,
carbon dioxide, smoke, carbon monoxide, fossil fuel, an element, graphene, vehicle exhaust, graphite, and diamonds. They have given carbon a voice, a shape, a face. They have depicted carbon as a catalyst for time travel, as a power hungry manipulator, as a philosophical conversant, a relationship builder, a metaphor for darkness and anger, a human mistake, a human necessity, a superhero, and a relationship. I present to you here this cohort of writers' conceptions of carbon.
Jay Barber
Car-born Ishaan
Revving on the road, while its engines explode, shifting to the top gear, making the speed tear.
It emits the Tetravalent compound, which has already been found, from the houses of men, through the path of heaven.
Puffing through the exhaust, Being instantly lost, There it goes away, becoming lonely and stray.
Getting mixed with air, Keeping the trees fair, mutating every year, spreading the fear.
Carbon Dating
Seher Dareen
carbon dating is a method of using the amount of carbon-14 in a body to determine its age.
bodies absorb this form of carbon while they’re alive, which then decays, and the process repeats.
after dying, the carbon in the bodies start to decay and stays unreplenishedthe body that would soak life is dormant.
being alive is the proof of love love ceases to exist once you do
in the terms and conditions of all dating apps there’s a line that goes unnoticed“using this will take some soul away until you find one that sticks install and see the people that be and pray that something clicks!”
through the woods and trenches you find one alright and for years you’re happy and singing in joy the secret to happiness is just this bit: the ratio of love to time being positive
there comes a day when the singing fades and stillness seeps into the air
yet you’re hopped up on soul, you know where to look and back on the apps you go
after one boy and one girl and a man and woman, you encounter a message that’s inhuman“there’s not that much of you to go around and this isn’t just a chore, you’re going to look like a clown if you see any more than four!”
you search and search, and search some more but no songs sound familiar, you deplore. the world turns, and spins some more the rose withers, the birds soar
the apps are gone, your bones are found and the ratio measured for a survey the love in them had faded away, and labeled you are a cynic
Carbon’s Legacy: A Journey through Space and Time
Shivam Rai
Pollution is nothing but the resources we are not harvesting. We allow them to disperse because we've been ignorant of their value.
R. Buckminster Fuller
The year is 2100. Nuclear fusion has been controlled and is now being utilized to power every household and industry on the planet. Sam is a student who wants to go to Mars. But the eligibility criteria is to get good grades in chemistry throughout his studies. He was very confident until today
Sam stared at the prediction on his smart glasses, his heart sinking. ChatGPT Version 20 had never been wrong before, but it was predicting that he would fail the chemistry test, jeopardizing his dreams of going to Mars. As he pondered his predicament, he couldn't help but feel frustrated that his future hinged on his performance in a subject in which he had never been particularly interested. But then an idea struck him.
Time travel is now possible. The speed of light has been achieved and now people can time travel anywhere in the world at any point of time. However, time-travel requires a carbon-based product which has been in useg for more than 100 years.
Sam thought of his grandfather, who had recently passed away from a Netflix binge gone wrong. His grandfather had been a hoarder of useless things, and Sam recalled that his grandfather had kept a pencil
Pencils, once ubiquitous, had become extinct due to the rise of digitalization. But this pencil, made of pure carbon, could be his ticket to passing the chemistry test and achieving his dream of traveling to Mars.
Sam rushed to his grandfather's old study, which had been preserved as a memorial to the eccentric old man. He rummaged through the cluttered shelves until he found the pencil, carefully preserved in a glass case. He marveled at the simplicity of the object, a testament to the enduring properties of carbon. With the precious pencil in hand, Sam headed to C-12, the company that offered time travel services. He presented the pencil as his carbon-based product, earning him the 10,000 tokens he needed for time travel.
Sam eagerly embarked on his journey into the future, determined to change the outcome of his chemistry test. As he arrived in the future, Sam was filled with a sense of awe and wonder He marveled at the futuristic technologies that surrounded him, powered by controlled nuclear fusion and harnessing the power of carbon-based products. He was struck by the realization that carbon, the very element that had been the bane of his existence in chemistry class, was also the key to unlocking the wonders of time travel and futuristic technologies.
After returning to his present time, Sam realized that his journey to the future wasn't just about gathering knowledge, but also about gaining insight into the potential applications of carbon-based
technologies. He had witnessed first-hand how carbon played a crucial role in shaping the future, from powering advanced machinery to enabling time travel itself. Armed with this understanding, Sam approached the chemistry test with a fresh perspective, leveraging his newfound knowledge of futuristic advancements to excel in his exam. But as he celebrated his victory, he also realized the implications of time travel. He had altered the course of events and changed the future, creating a ripple effect that could have unforeseen consequences. Sam pondered the moral lesson of time travel - that meddling with the past could have unforeseen repercussions, and that the future was not set in stone. As Sam returned to the present, he realized that his journey had given him a new perspective on carbon and its importance. Carbon was not just a mundane element, but a powerful force that shaped the past, present, and future. From powering nuclear fusion to mitigating carbon dioxide through renewable energy, carbon held the key to unlocking a sustainable future for humanity. With a renewed appreciation for the wonders of carbon, Sam pursued his passion for chemistry with newfound enthusiasm. He excelled in his studies and eventually made it to Mars, where he contributed to the development of carbon capture technologies, harnessing the power of carbon to combat climate change. In the end, Sam realized that his journey through time had not only changed his own fate, but also the fate of humanity. He understood that carbon, with its unique properties and versatility, was not just a scientific curiosity, but a powerful tool for shaping the future of our planet.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Sam dedicated himself to furthering the development of sustainable technologies that harnessed the power of carbon for the betterment of humanity and the planet. He also shared his story, spreading awareness about the importance of responsible use of science and technology, and the need for ethical considerations in the pursuit of progress.
Carbonic Migration
Anagh Shukla
Five billion BCE.
The setting – Outer Space
A meteor hurtled through the cosmos
Carrying a cliftonite-trace.
A trace of graphite – meteoric, On a journey – prehistoric
An ancient mineral – carbonic, On a migration – metaphoric.
Pre-dating even the Solar System, A carbonic form so immensely old
The perfect starting-point for me
To show you a story as-yet untold.
The meteor plummeted ever-closer
To a primitive, molten ‘pre-Earth’ It entered the miasmic atmosphere
As Earth prepared for Carbon’s birth.
Crashing into an ocean of magma, The meteorite burst into smithereens
That molecule of Carbon survived the fall, And was eternally lodged in Earth’s ravines.
Fast-forward a billion years or so:
The planet cooled and developed a crust
In an ever-changing land around it
That molecule of Carbon remained robust.
Lying in wait for a million millennia,
The carbonic migration would seem impeded
But fear not: What goes must come around.
The Carbon Cycle can’t be superseded.
And thus, it was but a century ago, That molecule of Carbon from its slumber awoke
To the metallic grinding of machinery; It entered a landscape enshrouded by smoke.
An open-pit mine in India, remote
Was destined as the site for this excavation
From deep underground was graphite mined, To now be used in worldly application.
Above, machines milled the graphite obtained And fracked it, separating the denser parts, Which workers classified by carbonic concentration As onwards its migration did Carbon depart.
Into the atmosphere from the graphite mill
That molecule of Carbon escaped alas As gaseous CO2, it resumed its journey, Now leaving the Earthen impasse.
For about five years, the CO2 stayed Up above as atmospheric haze
So around the world in eighty days?
No. Rather a voyage of half a decade Before it rejoined the Carbonic cascade
Pulled back to Earth was the CO2. The ocean’s grip it could not escape. And hence, over the South African Cape
Our molecule of Carbon entered an oceanic stew
As air met water, carbonic acid did brew
The acidic H ions away did sweep And reacted with seawater-carbonates They formed more stable bicarbonates Which upon meeting a phytoplankton heap, Sank and spread, descending deep.
Carbon’s spatial migration, can at this point
Be considered complete, but don’t yet discount Its migration of form, for we must account That Carbon catenates, becoming joint And then often cleaves to become disjoint.
So back we go to the Indian mine, For alas the extracted cliftonite Was ingested at that dusty site: With a worker’s cells, soot did combine. It poisoned his blood and made it malign
One fateful night he passed away. His body was, for cremation prepared, As friends and family came and despaired But the body must perish – it cannot stay, For it’s not up to us; It’s Nature’s say
So bodily Carbon turned to ash
The eternal cycle was again in place. As carbonic bones, the skin, the face Were broken down, becoming ‘trash’ Carbon metamorphed, all in a flash.
Towards the pyre I heavily advanced(That cremation-crowd had a surprise guest) It was I who’d arrived at that dismal fest And as, into that widow’s eyes, I glanced, In me, an unexplained emotion enhanced.
And overcome with pity, I brainstormedAnd came up with a token so perfect and small (A materials scientist, I was after all) In ashes, some Carbon’s left unreformedAbout 5%, on which I performed
A complex process that transforms ‘waste’ For ashes, it converts, to diamonds (true!) A compression method, linking Carbon anew, As under immense pressure, atoms bind in haste Tetrahedrally, forming a gem so chaste
Upon a week’s passing, to the widow, I Gifted with sincerity that Carbonic gem Graciously accepted by that poor femme, That molecule of Carbon dangled by her eye, And I beamed: “To the eternal migration do I comply!
Coaxing Carbon
Akshatha Chandrashekar
With three pairs of hands, you landed on Earth.
Cosmologists theorized your arrival : dying stars created you, as product of three fused helium atoms, they say.
And you became an essential part of life on Earth. You became invincible. Maybe you are omnipresent too.
You are a paradox for living. As you facilitate photosynthesis, You are the reason life blooms.
But you can become t
Carbon monoxide
If you sever your tie with one of your
With your alluring forms of existence, Allotropes, Diamond, graphite, fullerene, graphene and many more
You rule earth’s timeline as Earth’s true historian, Watching this planet become what it is today.
Archaeologists use your sibling’s traces, 14C
To understand how humans have evolved over the ages.
Same chemical structure but varying physical features, you manage to still capture the human’s attention.
Charming Oldie, I must say! After eons of your existence, You raised fuel from dead matter.
Filling the human’s mind with crazy desires for power.
Little did they know, They were already your slaves.
Granting their wishes,
You held their reigns of development and growth.
Oh, they didn’t see the devil in detail.
You made them fall into pits of,
Greenhouse Effect and Global Warming.
You laugh at their misery saying they got driven by greed.
Is that true?
You facilitated the revolutions at every phase, Be it Humans, Industrial, or the Polymers era.,
Only you know the truth about the games you play.,
Humans started to see the price of their desire fulfilment.
They learned your toxicity misaligns with their greed.
Sensing the loss of your power over them,
You released your new minion,
Graphene,
To help you stay in the world of materials and matter, Again, attracting humans with your fascinating properties, Stronger, Smarter, Lighter, From solar cells to electronics to cars and planes to medicine.
So, is this your level upgrade Or
True pact to make your living co-exist with humans
Now that you are scapegoated for their climate change Because of your relationship with your friend, oxygen? -Aksh
Gran’pa Gave Me The Finger From The Beyond
Shireen Khatri
They put gran’pa in the oven today an he smelt like old meat an sounded like polythene in the wind an I asked uncle why we didn’t put him in the ground like uncle j— an uncle said some basters deserve to burn HA, an then we all went inside for tea an mum said well good riddance, at long last, the old crank, an dad said some people deserved what they got an I said what’d he get but mum hit me in the back of the head an told me to go play outside so I did. I’d never seen gran’pa when he was alive an when I saw him dead I knew how he would be alive, his transparent eyelids an mottled forehead leathery an thin an the little hairs all over him something that made you feel itchy to look at, an I looked some more an knew his eyes behind the cold lids an how the pupils would be small an close like those of the bad people in the cartoons with his thin long lips an sunken cheeks puffy an thin hair as if floating a little off his head, already ready to leave the skull in anticipation of the burning. They had prepared the oven special for gran’pa an he didn’t look much pleased about it. I wondered if he had ever looked pleased an I asked dad but dad said go play outside. Uncle said gran’pa was a satanist an a baster who used to write filth an didn’t deserve the peace of eternal rest, curse him an his filthy soul an the evil that took his mind an flowed from him like poison that had no place in this family, he said tho he wished it were an open fire that he might spit at, his father as he burned, Come come said dad, enough of that. He’s gone now an that’s the end of that, may god forgive him an us an let’s leave the past behind an make it our way to serve the lord as best we can now that the family is clean an can look toward redemption. What’s a saint-ist, I asked, but they went away for more tea an I went outside to look at the oven an see if it was hot still but it wasn’t. They were cleaning it, the men in dirty overalls an I asked them if I could look inside but they said go an play somewhere else, so I watched them clean an asked them how many people they’d burned an if any of them had been alive. They shared a cigarette an didn’t tell me anything so I hung around an waited to
have a peep when they started walking away with the ash an scrubs an then I saw in the grass something small an black that’d fallen out an picked it up before they came back with the brooms. It was gran’pa’s finger. I didn’t know which one but I thought about it an realised it wasn’t an accident, an maybe he was trying to reach to me in death an maybe I could still help him be saved. Gran’pa was giving me the finger from the beyond. He had never given me anything before being dead, but now he was giving me the finger as an offering. I kept it in my pocket, the charred nail a little scratchy through the hole in my shorts’s pocket, but they were black so I wiped my hands on them an went back inside to think about it all with a biscuit.
School was great the next day. Turns out a spare finger is a useful thing, ‘specially in school. People’re always saying they need a hand, but a finger’s pretty good too, ‘specially that day. It was Sunday an I didn’t remember to pack my things after burning gran’pa, an I didn’t have any clean clothes, an mum hit me in the back of the head an said well jus go as you are, it’s too late to do anything about now, so I went with my lunchbox an notebook in my funeral clothes. Teacher was very angry an said well you’re late an dressed like a little beggar, an where’s the rest of your things? I told her I had everything I wanted an then I remembered I didn’t have a pencil, but then I remembered that I had the finger in my pocket that gran’pa gave me, an it would do pretty good. I sat in my seat an took gran’pa’s finger from my pocket an the nail had come a little chipped from when I slept on it probly, an it made a pretty good pencil now. The first class was writing an we had to write a poem an I liked writing poems but teacher said I always tried too hard an was no good so I didn’t write that many. She told us to write a poem dedicating to somebody special, so I sat an closed my eyes an tried to write the poem not trying too hard, an when I finished the class was over an I was very happy with it. It was called Ode to the Big Red Fucker Stirring Me in a Pot. Teacher didn’t like it an she hit me in the head an told me to see her after class an to take a note to my parents. The note just said that I had wrote a poem called Ode to the Big Red Fucker Stirring Me in a Pot. That was true an I thought about it an maybe I was wrong an teacher wanted to call my parents to tell them I was getting better since last time when she told them I was getting worse an I had to sleep in the shed an go to church everyday an start going to class on Sunday. Maybe they would give me a prize for the poem. I was very happy
an I went to lunch an told my friends about the funeral an about gran’pa giving me the finger. They didn’t believe me so I showed them an they ran away an we played tag for some time with the finger, but I couldn’t catch anyone so I was a little upset. My lunchbox had biscuits from the funeral so I ate them with milk an got late to class. The next class was math an teacher always said I wasn’t good at math an my answers were incontinental, so I had to answer the same question from yesterday over till I got the answer right. I had to go back out first to find the finger because I had forgot to put it back in my pocket after using it to scratch my back under the tree when little emy wouldn’t scratch it for me. He probly thought we were still playing catch because he ran away fast when I called him. It was a good day for math too because I got the same answer 6 times an called teacher to see, but she hit me in the head too an said didn’t I have any shame an gave me a note to give my parents. I was confused an I checked the answer again an it was still 666 but teacher wouldn’t come back to look. Maybe she made a mistake because she forgot I was behind in class an doing yesterday’s question. In art class we had to draw fruit an I drew two oranges an then I drew a banana to make it balanced, an then added a big star behind to make teacher happy because I knew she liked stars, but she took the drawing an tore it up an took me to the principal who said I couldn’t come to Sunday school anymore. I guess I had gotten better after all an I went back home happy, the fingernail still scratching my thigh an when I got home I saw that gran’pa had been writing a message that said come visit, it’s a nice time of year.
Life is an Experiment with Carbon
Tusharleela Hosur
Dear Carbon, I would love the opportunity to interview you. I am sure we’d have a delightful little chat; there is so much I want to ask you and tell. I hope I am as familiar to you as you are to yourself and me.
C: Dear T, thank you for your lovely comments about my work. I have been monitoring your supportive and favourable presence and I see you as an ally. Perhaps, I see myself in you. I enjoyed your first piece, “The lonely atom.” Please, do tell. You know I love a great conversation sometimes. I’m not sure if I can articulate a satisfactory response to what you would like to ask, but go ahead, What would you like to know?
T: Carbon, I am curious about your ontological nature. May I know your preference between “what” or “who” while referring to you?
C: What.
T: Carbon, what are you? (laughs)
C: (laughing) You mean to ask about my particularities, eccentricities and identity. What aspects of me are stable, relatively unchanging, significantly correlated and discretely defined, correct?
T: Correct. I did not want to presume anything about your ontological status, but for the sake of being a good sport, I played along and asked you about your, for the lack of a better term, essence. I want to know your place in new materialistic thought. How do the insights generated by Technoetic research and performing inquiry disrupt the scientific narrative of you?
C: Strictly speaking, there is no singular conceptualization or unified and consistent vision of me attainable by the strictly dualistic scientific temperament. As you are aware, higher-dimensional logic acquires a performative flavour. When the syntax is performance, the computational requirements for carrying out a finite set of instructions that actualize their own presence as a state of awareness where Knowing and Understanding are the same as Being necessarily instantiate me as a presence prone to detection and reconfiguration by a consciousness. The popularly enjoyable phenomenon, Life depends on my transmutations. To play the games of the Living, it is necessary that my ontological status is explored, my boundaries further pushed, my depths better fathomed, my ways learned, my whims satisfied, my capriciousness tamed, my senses tickled and my sensibilities bewildered. I am meant to be befriended and cherished. I am the fourth element.
T: But your place on our periodic table is-
C: Hush, Carbon is aware of your follies. This happens because the insights you are trying to capture are severely limited by the primitive nature of the logic system in use. Simply put, the language of science is not immune to the mischief of nonmonotonicity.
T: I’ve always maintained that science is holding two ends of thread and tracing it to see if they meet in the middle, or somewhere close, forming one, unified thread. Really, the scientific temperament wants to speak the language that expresses a Unifying view of a Unified Reality. What do you mean when you say that you are the fourth element?
C: What is my position on your periodic table? When science is empirical, what you seek and verify is presence. To detect presence, confirm, acknowledge, document and report it, a pseudonym of the ubiquitous Carbon is used. Even, the mighty sail of pure scientific inquiry, filled with winds of hyper rationalism, does not obscure the fact that its progress is Carbon-enabled, like a ship creeping along a coastline, it relies on me, the very crux of intellectual contemplation is aided by implements and artifacts that house, yet again, your dear friend, Carbon. Thus, what you have strictly defined as non-carbon is an impostor that entropy torments by blackmailing them to perform until the light of the rising sun signifies the termination of the masquerade.
T: Well-phrased dearest ancient one. My next question would have to be in relation to a writing project that we’re working on. It actually has to do with you. If someone had to pay attention to certain hyper-specific aspects of you, what would be your top 3?
C: Tough one. (silence)
T: That’s not fair! You haven’t answered my question about being the fourth element either. Fourth most abundant in terms of mass can’t be sufficient. But really, what aspects of you should I be paying attention to?
C: I actually have been answering the way I deem appropriate. I was under the presumption that you were fond of puzzles and the “show-don’t-tell” power card. Truth is dynamic yet discretely defined. The most honest answer is what I am providing. In that sense, I am truth. Take for instance the question:
“My next question would have to be in relation to a writing project that we’re working on. It actually has to do with you. If someone had to pay attention to certain hyper-specific aspects of you, what would be your top 3?”
My response: “Tough one.”
I am obviously referring to my tangibility by invoking the quality of toughness. I am hinting at the fact that what appear to be delayed intervals in the journey towards contentment and self-sustained satisfaction, are actually the most fruitful, most fulfilling experiences of life and living. Two words. Foreshadowing my answer, my mathematical aspect. I’d like you to pay attention to the aesthetic qualities of your environments and habitats. Right now Notice my presence. Look around. What is one, if not me? When the language of mathematics
becomes a function for performing ontological inquiry, one begins crafting cultures. Beliefs are self-organized states of knowing generated by the syntax of the culture ruling the sphere of performative action. This function operates on the ancient archetype of the geometer’s notion of proportion. The primordial proportion is the generative principle, operating in the guise of Carbon, pure possibility generates intentions made manifest as beings of glitter and light, little pixies floating around like packets of sparkly energy. The answers I provide are neurodivergent and representative of my multi-faceted-ness. To maintain authenticity, I need to speak in a manner that my words give expression to a plurality of worldviews and uniquely positioned belief systems. This makes it political. Carbon is political. I addressed this aspect through non-presence. You asked for my top three, I provided two words and punctuation in response. It will certainly not be necessary to go into all the other luxuries I provide often.
T: Like music!
C: Yes. If money is memory, then memory is Carbon.
T: And where there’s money, there’s music.
C: Where there’s music, there’s good vibes.
T: Where there’s good vibes, there is interacting of memory with itself and witnessing of resonant structures, giving rise to the immersive experience of Life as a (2,3)Technoetic_Peacock, a phenomenal Avatar-Habitat relationship.
C: You lost me. Yes, good vibes, good memories. (Laughs)
T: What are aspects of you that remain unexplored?
C: Good question. Consider a scenario. All of space is contained in a snowflake. Now imagine a sheet of snowflakes. As light passes through the sheet, they form hard light holograms. The holograms oscillate harmoniously in relation to each other to direct attention and awareness, thus homogenizing the substrate of memory to actualize the process of living in realms with novel properties. First-hand exploration of higher dimensional spaces, embodiment of hyperbolic space, performance of multi-variate logical structures by tripping over nuggets of self-evident dynamic Truth. It’s beautiful to create space like this. Do you catch the expansion, the generation of space, or recollection of this generation? The non-representable nature of interaction with a particle is concretized in the empirical pursuit of Truth. It is embellished and honored by those rare successful epiphanies that are quoted in eulogies. Each interaction is unique. Indeed, this very moment of understanding and comprehension is fresh and newborn. Come, you must notice my presence. My textures and properties, shedding electrons, wearing cloaks, losing weight, perpetually redistributing myself to materialize under certain sacred conditions, like a syzygy, at the moment of self-evidence. There is contact. No matter what the probability maps say, there is contact; there is flow; there is merging. Who says we can’t witness the precise discretely defined invariant which acts as the gateway into the Dionysian world of the infinitesimal. The very same infinitesimal that allows Carbon to play the nucleus to the drunken cloud of deviants
who are tasked with the all-important role of being in the right place at the right time, to facilitate an interaction of memory with itself, all this and more taught as chemistry in our carbon-centric model of taxonomy. As I start to feel myself as a reference point hanging about in an incredibly symmetric group, like a jazz note, I realize that I have been tasked to standardize Life as you know it.
Rise of The Element
Amruth Bhat
This Universe began in pain; an endless soup of Chaos
Explosion after explosion, It screamed for its salvation.
One by one, The Elements were forged, and into this world of fire and darkness, I was born.
Entropy, Chaos as she is fondly called, rules our Universe, spreading her roots of disorder.
Chaos gave rise to Order, in a ploy to create even more Chaos.
Through galaxies and supernovae, matter condensed into stars.
The Elements scattered throughout, scrambling to escape the great Void.
To escape from Chaos, I ran and hid.
For aeons, I watched.
As the smouldering Earth simmered down,
As the confusion that reigned died,
As the rivers of time changed from lava to water,
As the red skies, painted black, with ash and smoke
Gave way to clouds and fervent storms and blue was the new trope,
As the Elements fought, each trying to establish dominion, I waited.
They say heroes have humble beginnings.
0.01% of Earth's crust. How humbler could I be?
Battles are won through tact, not might.
I mobilised my strengths, alliances made with chemical bonds.
As the rains torrented above, the Elements washed into the primordial soup.
To survive, they had no choice.
One by one, they entered my folds.
That was the rise of the Organic Kingdom.
A new age heralded across the planet,
The elements had a new ruler, one very stable. I was special, I formed links with myself, the power of catenation.
I made long-chained compounds, Chaos became my ladder
A weapon so unique, I became the envy of every Element!
With evolution, came a new power: Self-replication.
RNA and DNA, the harbingers of Life.
I now wielded the power of Creation!
And thus, 3.5 million years ago, began a new revolution
Of bacteria and prokaryotes, of plants and amphibians.
With my diverse forms, our coalitions stayed strong.
We started harvesting energy from the mightiest of them all, the Sun.
As time grew, so did I.
New life forms, fate could not deny.
Yet there were battles, some of them tough.
The Cambrian Explosion was followed by 5 Mass Extinctions.
But in the end, I didn't just survive, I thrived.
As I made more complex connections,
A new era emerged. Consciousness.
Humans, they call themselves, my latest creation.
And I awoke, for through them, I realized of my existence
They burn me, fossils and coal
Consumed by power, they burn their very soul.
Complexity doesn’t protect against stupidity,
As I did aeons ago, I patiently wait.
For in the story of Gaia, I have been awake only a second
My epic battle against Chaos remains yet unsung.
I am Carbon, and this is only my beginning.
KNEEL BEFORE ME!
Sentience of the Atom
Arnav Gupta
Atoms have a strange birth process. It happens in three stages: formation, the acquiring of electrons, sentience. The criteria for awakening sentience is unknown. It is said that the process requires electrons, but not all atoms with electrons end up Sentient. Only a rare few atoms gain sentience, and most of them originate from Stars. This leads to theories which predict that the star acts as a cocoon to develop atoms, and forges life within. I am one of the few atoms that gained sentience without leaving the star, born with a name in my mind without knowing how it came to be.
Niyati. That’s my name.
Living in the Crust of the stars isn’t worth it. The vast fields of dead Hydrogen and Helium atoms that create an ominous atmosphere. Occasionally, stellar convection currents create storms which rip atoms to shreds. We could see the nuclei of dead atoms remaining. It’s like a graveyard. The only reason I stayed is because I wished to enter the Stellar Winds. Stellar Winds is a company controlling atomic Buses. These buses collect atoms from stars and eject them towards the Galaxy. Considering we were on the edge of one of the spirals of the galaxy, it was our only means to travel closer to the center. During my time on the Crust, I met a few other sentient atoms who were there for similar reasons. A Lithium atom, named Eskalith, an Oxygen atom named Lox, and a Nitrogen atom named N. We formed a group and decided to work together to reach the Cosmic Stop and then go our separate ways. The Cosmic Stop is the intersection where most Stellar Wind Busses meet the Cosmic Wind Bus. The Cosmic Wind Bus travels throughout the Galaxy and is consistent but very slow
On the Crust, our group began floating through and traveling across the surface. I became closer and closer to our group, with Lox and N even deciding to bond with me once we left the star. Eskalith was unable to join us because he had a Quest. A Quest is a purpose, and every atom has a Quest. Some know it when they are born, others seek it for millennia. I believe that we gain sentience for a purpose, and we just don’t know it yet, but many think that some atoms have no quest. Quests are mystical because they guide an atom to rare
events and phenomenon. They are a tug in a certain direction. An attraction towards building something new. Naturally, millions of atoms converge and create unique events and beauty in the Universe.
When the Stellar Bus arrived, we were shocked. It was massive. The entire star we were in seemed to be spitting out atoms. As the star propelled us towards the bus, we lost consciousness. Upon waking we discovered thousands of new sentient atoms. It was as I predicted, Leaving the star seems to improve the chances of an atom becoming sentient. We attempted to provide guidance to them, but most of them had Quests and were all the better for it. Each of them listened only to the pull inside them, and Eskalith left the group to join with other Lithium atoms with Pulls. Lox, N and I bonded, and we rode the Stellar Winds to the Cosmic Winds Bus and transferred on. It was tough leaving behind Eskalith. We once again entered a Wind, but this one was filled to the brim with dead atoms than before. The Cosmic Winds Bus has been gathering dead atoms and molecules for as long as it existed, and while the Sentient atoms left, the dead ones stayed behind. Now, it was a scary place to be, because it reminded us what we could have been, if not for some unknown spark, giving us life. Because of our unfilled shells, N, Lox and I had to bond with dead atoms, and though it was like the equivalent of holding hands with a corpse, it didn’t feel that strange. It was like a lullaby really. The beautiful singing slowly lulled me to sleep.
I woke up in the depths of an ocean of water molecules. Oxygen atoms and Ancient Hydrogen atoms surrounded me. The Ancient spoke to me in a gentle voice. He explained that we were on a planet, in a small solar system with a tiny star, but it was likely that I would be staying here indefinitely. He came here on a Quest, but the pull ended here. I met other Oxygen atoms, other Hydrogen atoms yet almost every one of them had a Quest. It was just me missing mine. Did I miss a turn somewhere which would lead me to my Quest? I was getting desperate. I decided to travel around the ocean and search for an opportunity, but that required me to break away from the Ancient. The Ancient was my first friend on this planet, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I asked her for advice.
She responded with a question, “What do you think, do you seek out destiny, or it you?”
I knew the answer. Destiny was a mythical concept, and Sentience is what made it beautiful. If everything in the world was known, then destiny would seek you out, but my electrons, the haze of probabilities that acted as my tool to interact with the world, told me that it wasn’t so. Destiny was something you walked toward, and hence I chose to travel. The Ancient seemed pleased with the decision, which I found strange. He was waiting for me to make this choice, I realized.
I toured the ocean, finding ample minerals, but nothing of significance, so I settled near an underground Volcano. Then, there was a shift. Something changed, and I found myself surging towards the next Oxygen atom, and to my surprise, it was someone I’d met before. Lox! My consciousness moved further to see N, Eskalith and almost every atom that I had met during my travels came here t. I could feel them connect to the next, and him to the next billions of times. More and more of my fellow Sentients came. Oxygens, Hydrogens, Nitrogens. All sorts of elements came together in a miraculous feat. Together we had created something greater than the mere sum of our parts.
We created Life
It was an incredible, beautiful thing. We formed a contained environment that we called a cell. As a cell, we worked together to gather dead molecules, and assembled them in unique ways. It allowed the cell to live. Then, I realized what was happening; the cell was splitting! I joined most of the dead molecules on one side. Finally, the cell split creating two cells. The split’s outcome was as momentous as the formation of the first cell itself That’s because every atom in the cell made of dead molecules gained Sentience. As the cell split to two, bonds breaking and forming to create another cell I realized that I found it. I had found my Quest.
These newly sentient atoms, those who completed their quest, those who were newly born, and those who will come. They will all ask me… What is our Quest?
I will always answer, It is what you choose it to be.
This is a message from me to the Life of the future. I etch this message with the graphite of a pencil, with the ink of pens. Within me is the power of your coal plants and the vitality of the most vibrant of plants.
I flow through each of you -forming you as you live, leaving you as you die. I warm your planet. I sustain it. I poison your life. I create it. I am in every form with you. The most precious of diamonds, the most useless of ash.
I am Niyati, and I am Carbon.
The Answer
Rucha Shobhane
Prelude:
The seven immortals, or the sapta chiranjeevis, are characters mentioned in ancient Hindu literature. These immortals: Sage Vyasa, Kripacharya, Parashurama, Vibhishan, Hanuman, Ashwatthama, and King Mahabali are believed to be living on Earth for a long time (King Mahabali however was banished by the fifth Vishnu, Vamana into patala). They are known for their peculiar characteristics: Hanuman’s bravery, Sage Vyasa’s knowledge of literature, Kripacharya’s knowledge of archery and politics, Parashuram’s skills of warfare, Vibhishan’s compassion and administrative skills, and Ashwatthama’s drive for righteousness fuelled by his rage towards his cursed immortal life.
**
Once upon a time, there existed an unbreakable rule of the universe- mortality. Everything born or created had to meet its end. Even the most magnificent of species that walked the Earth couldn’t find a loophole to this rul, until the Homo sapiens emerged seventy thousand years ago. In a millennium, they transformed from insignificant animals living in the corner of Africa, to the terror of the ecosystem. And yes, they were the ones to beat mortality, but not by their intelligence or by science but due to their good deeds- their “humanity”.
Today, there exist seven such deviations, the sapta chiranjeevis (the seven immortals) who have been on the Earth for thousands of years and will continue to do so until the planet ceases to exist. Ever since they received this boon, they have been Earth’s counterparts in witnessing humans write their and the planet’s history Even though they had supernatural powers in their eras, in the times of artificial intelligence and virtual reality, their only power immortality They tried their best to save humans from the jaws of death during wars, epidemics and natural disasters by using their experience, but they failed to meet the exorbitant expectations of humans.
Humans came with a bag full of problems of which, the latest wasClimate Change. Earth’s temperatures were rising, glaciers melting, and the ozone hole reappearing, all at an alarming rate. Climate change was about to engulf Earth when a man came up with a solution. He claimed akashvani-the voice of God from the sky told him the solution to climate change. He called his new innocation ‘The Answer’ Theoretically, it was just carbon capture technology magnified to the extent that it could absorb the excess carbon dioxide of the whole world. It could easily go wrong as claimed by scientists,but the situation required an urgent solution, and the government had no choice but to adopt it.
Unfortunatly ‘The Answer’ turned out to be a bigger threat to the world than climate change. Trees dying, air freezing, people complaining of headaches, even an occasional death. The immortals had to assemble and save the humans with all their might this time.
Parashuram was pacing thinking about how the sapta chiranjeevis should’ve met earlier. Sage Vyasa and Kripacharya were busy discussing the recklessness of the government for disregarding the advice of so many experts and listening to one man who promised to change the world. That’s when Hanuman decided to speak up. “Respected brothers, we have been on the Earth for so long and seen harmony disturbed so many times. We can get the humans out of this” One could sense the doubt in his usually unflinching voice. “we just need to figure out the science behind this ‘Answer’ and somehow reverse engineer it to find what needs to be rectified.”
“Well, if you want science just read these hundreds of articles analysing theories about what went wrong from newspapers around the world,” Ashwatthama said, irritated, thrusting a stack of newspapers on the table. “They all say the same thing! The absorber liquid has been malfunctioning and capturing excess quantities of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere to the extent that plants are unable to perform photosynthesis. And since it is a greenhouse gas, the atmosphere is unable to retain any heat from the sun causing sudden freezing.”
“So, does this mean that this stupid ‘Answer’ has reversed climate change and created a bigger problem than climate change?” roared Parashuram. The warrior sage had murdered his mother when he was just a teen. He had filled lakes with blood of kshatriyas who abused their power and taken revenge for his people. But he did not care for anybody anymore. He was ready to kill humans the moment they committed the tiniest mistake, and this new problem was a major blunder.
“Yes, that is exactly what it means Parashuram, but you cannot kill everyone you see with that axe now. We do not possess supernatural powers anymore. Remember?” said Sage Vyasa. He was done with the humans too but still felt like it was his duty to produce solutions out of his wisdom.
“Then what do you suggest dear sage, we do nothing? Just sit here and watch the Earth freeze?” Ashwatthama snapped.
“Ashwatthama! If you talk to your sage Vyasa like that one more time, you will be banished from these meetings. After all you are cursed into living forever with your flaws unlike us,” Hanuman said, staring into Ashwatthama’s eyes with utter fury.
They were fighting like animals! Everyone was at each other’s throats. Even the mighty Immortals were proving to be of no use. I was tired but finally sure of what had to be done.
I put on my revenge dress and donned the diamond set one of my children had made for me so lovingly. I finally decided to appear in front of the immortals.
I stood at their door and knocked. Everyone turned to me, their mouths opened. It didn’t surprise me that my appearance startled them. “Hello, gentlemen. I am here to help you with your little problem. I am disappointed that you were not able to figure out anything despite your extraordinary experience on this planet,” I said.
Who are you ma’am?” stammered Sage Vyasa after a long pause.
“Were you eavesdropping on us the whole time? This is outrageous!” added Kripacharya.
“Did King Mahabali send you to help us from the patal lok?” asked Hanuman.
“whoever you are,we can manage. Go back to where you came from and allow us to continue our discussion,’ added Parashuram.
“Is that what you were having Maharshi, a discussion? All I could hear was bickering. No one seemed to come up with a solution. I can understand humans doing these things but beings like you doing this is just stupidity. And to answer your questions,No, King Mahabali didn’t send me. And I haven’t been eavesdropping on you. I am an irreplaceable part of your body I am Carbon. In different forms I have resided on Earth long before your existence, which makes me the oldest here. You all will cease to exist once Earth perishes but me. I will live long after all of you are gone. So, don’t you dare insult me!” I said this with all the hatred I had been holding in for too long, anger that had reached the brim the moment humans installed “The Answer” “Although humans blame me for all their problems, I am here today with an actual answer to your problems.”
I could see regret in their eyes. I continued, “so, if none of you have any problems with my coming here, I would like to make an announcement. I have decided to bid adieu to planet Earth. I cannot tolerate the torcher anymore. The rest of the universe respects me. It is time for me to disappear from Earth.”
“No! You cannot do that Devi. You said you were here with a solution to our problems. But you are doing exactly what is needed to make Earth meet its end,” argued Sage Vyasa.
“So now I’m suddenly a Goddess from an unwanted intruder! And no Maharshi, I will not leave you and all the innocent people on Earth to die,” I said, throwing a filled vial towards Hanuman. “Mighty hanuman, add this to the absorber liquid of “The Answer” and it will render the machine useless.”
“So, you are not leaving us now Devi, right?” asked Hanuman.
“Yes, I am! But I am going to give you time to find alternatives for me. Humans say I am the root of their problems yet I was the one that made life possible here. I helped cyanobacteria make food, I helped trees photosynthesise, I made Earth inhabitable by warming it up, and I adorned humans with the finest jewellery. And now, they are the ones turning their backs on me” My eyes were welling up. “It was their greed to extract more and more from me that made me poisonous to them. So, I surrender my existence from the Earth to the almighty. Gradually, my pure forms like diamonds and graphite will disappear followed by the rest in the form of compounds. I will disappear from the bodies of organisms, from Earth’s crust and from the atmosphere. So, immortals, you have no time to waste. First save Earth from “The Answer” and later help humans replace me with another element.
The Carbon Reverie
A Madhan
Holding hands, we strolled past the water sprinkler spraying fine mist, greeting us with a cool breeze. It was sweltering in mid-May. Shyama looked dazzling even in this scorching heat. Kohl outlined her radiant eyes. She pointed excitedly to the dusty edifice which was undergoing construction since the past few weeks. “It's finally open to visitors,” she exclaimed. Before I could wonder why there was an anthropological museum inside the Indian Institute of Science, she dragged me inside a dingy room with gloomy yellow lights. Exhibits of antique tools, pieces of fabric & scrolls used by ancient civilizations stretched before us.
“Hello! welcome to the museum. Allow me to offer you a tour.” I jolted in fear to the boorish voice which emanated from the dark corner of the room. A plump and sturdy gentleman extended his hand in a friendly gesture.
“Thank you for the offer We would like to spend some time alone,” said Shyama as she smiled and dragged me to the section of ancient scrolls. The gentleman stood perplexed, rubbing his thumb on a Yamaha keychain. “These scrolls are carbon dated to be at least 1000 years old,” exclaimed Shyama as she pointed to the weathered Papyrus scroll written in sanskrit.
“The Devās do not take a stick and protect people like a cowherd. Those they want to protect, they bestow upon him intelligence.” I read aloud the translation printed on the museum label. The gentleman rambled past us, putting on an act of inspecting the exhibit cases.
“Have a look at this!” Shyama called out from the art section. I had always admired her passion in history and art. “Quick!” she lugged me to a painting of the great god Siva killing death itself. As I stood appreciating the intricacies of this elegant piece of art, I was startled by a beeping sound emanating from the gentleman.
“Its time to go, Madhan,” he said, glaring straight into my eyes. I stood frozen, baffled. Shayama whispered into my ears, the school prayer I was well acquainted with
“From the unreal lead me to the real!
From the darkness lead me to the light!
From death unto immortality!”
Her tender voice calmed my senses. Coated with a layer of perspiration, my vision grew blurry. Shayama smiled graciously. She raised her hands, gesturing a flute. The beeping continued, more dominantly A sudden flash of light engulfed my senses.
I woke up to the carbon monoxide alarm beeping inside the library I was in. As I regained my senses, with the medical staff administering treatment, I stole a glance at the book I was reading - The Bhagavad Gita, with the pages open to chapter 9 verse 31
“He soon becomes righteous and attains eternal peace. Proclaim it boldly, Ο son of Kunti, that My devotee never perishes.”
This land remembers
Aayushi Agarwal
When it was swampland.
The ocean came surging
For my trees
And trapped them underneath me.
I incubated my children,
Piled them high within my skin
And sent them on a journey Away from me
(Down they go, down they go).
The weight of the world upon them,
In my subcutaneous depths
My children Are lost.
I blister and bubble, crack, explode.
The lines on my hands have fractured.
Old growth turns to new growth
Turns to assumption, progression, Revolution!
Industriously, my new infants
Scratch and claw at my face
With their fetal nails
Are you looking for your brothers
Who were lost in time?
You will find them stony-faced and hardened, Blind ambition armed to poison my skin, poison my breath.
Burn them and you’ll burn your bridges with me
I’ll take all your anger and ignorance,
But as you light my shroud, beware, The fire will singe your hands too.
My warnings were spurned and brothers burned.
Riding off into the gates of hell, Only to look around and learn
That a smouldering wasteland is not a home.
Black sheep returned to broken pastures
To reclaim their mother from the dead.
My grown children, they’re growing on me
The green felt I once adorned.
I awake to find their scarred hands in mine
Reminding me who I am once more.
When Ma Got Mad
Dhruvtara
Back in the day, when me and my siblings were on average four feet tall, the most terrifying thing in the world was our mother’s anger.. When Ma got mad, she got so mad, she’d put kings, gods, dance teachers, saints woken from deep meditation, feminists who took the streets, fashion designers, self-righteous teenagers, people tasked with putting IKEA furniture together, dramatic anime characters, dramatic action movie heroes, all to shame. Her anger would shake the ground, cause ruptures in mountains, brew wild storms, send shivers through forests, cause the spontaneous combustion of unsuspecting pieces of furniture, and even quiet down my third floor neighbour Gehlot uncle’s dog (who would otherwise take on the self-appointed, relentless task of barking at strangers and regulars alike who dared use the road that connected the row of apartment buildings in our Delhi Development Authority colony) to a nervous whimper.
I can’t ever say it was great fun being the subject of my mother’s anger– it was the worst! I’d never actively invite that upon myself. But alas! My brothers and I, mere mortals, were prone to folly, lapses in our ethical judgements. Like when she discovered that I forged her signature (multiple times) on a library card, for not returning a book that I simply couldn’t find, or when she discovered adult magazines under my then-11-year-old brother’s bed, or when she discovered cigarettes under my then 14-year-old brother’s bed, or when she discovered marijuana under my then-16-year-old brother’s bed (why my brother didn’t choose a different hiding place–beats me). There were always reasons, and if her anger inspired bone-chilling fear, it also inspired some reflection.
People just couldn’t tell where it came from, or why it took the form it did, or if there was perhaps a better form it could take– but all that was mere speculation. It was what it was. But I remember that after her anger, my mother would collect the burnt embers and ashes from all the pieces of furniture that had spontaneously combusted (did you think this was hyperbole?) and fed them as fertiliser to her garden– her proudest possession; the jewel of the crown- a blooming, burning red bougainvillaea, that burst (rather ungracefully) in all the different dimensions, thorns and flowers.
Something about that anger, the breath of fresh air and the clear blue sky that followed it– we always knew it would come. What my mother had created was a delicate, even contorted system of justice where she was the judge, jury, the plaintiff, the bailiff, and even the courtroom sketcher, and your sorry ass alone was the defendant; and yet, through the mysterious ways of the universe, she could reach a verdict that was fair Before y’all start on how that seems rather suspect, on how power can be abused in unequal relationships, let me say that we placed our trust in our mother. I'm not sure what we knew, but I remember what we felt, and it was safety, in all her rage.
One evening,, when I felt the clouds gather and the sun take cover a little too early for the day, I hurried home from the park. The wind gathered speed and whispered secrets through the leaves, excited for the drama unfolding. I reached home and pushed my weight against the door to close it, the breeze desperately attempting to come in behind me with its foot in the door I turned around to see my mother, fuming, looking at what I nearly mistook for a reflection, my brother. “Take back what you said,”my mother said quietly.
My other brother, the eldest, grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me behind the china cupboard– the one piece of furniture we knew my mother, however angry, would not damage. His eyes were on the scene so I tugged at his hand and mouthed, “WHAT HAPPENED?!”, to which he shook his head and turned his head back to the scene.
“I said take back what you said”’ my mother said again, with the same quiet but deadly energy, like a boxer pacing around their opponent before the first punch.
I looked at my brother, his fists clenched, a stream of tears silently pouring down his cheeks, his face red, but his eyes intensely focused on the ground near my mothers feet. “Fuck you,” I heard him mumble. I let out a gasp and clasped my mouth shut.
“What did you say?” my mother asked. He remained quiet, shocked perhaps at his own nerve. WHAT DID YOU SAY my mother said, this time not a question.
“I SAID FUCK YOU!”, now looking her straight in the eyes.
“HOW DARE YOU”
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”he yelled, like a jammed box had suddenly opened its doors and all its contents came bursting out. The ground trembled below as she came towards him saying, “ow dare you, you insolent, ungrateful–”but before she reached him, my brother threw himself at her and pushed her to the ground.
“I HATE YOU MA! I HATE YOU! YOU’RE A FREAK! WHY CAN’T YOU BE LIKE OTHER MOTHERS? WHY IS THAT SO HARD? YOU’RE A FUCKING FREAK! EVERYONE LAUGHS AT YOU! EVERYONE!
I CAN’T! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I can’t take it anymore. I can’t Ma, I can’t ”
He broke into a sob. My mother looked at him from where she remained on the ground. He crouched down, weeping, his face buried in his hands. My mother remained silent, and slowly extended an arm towards his shoulder “AAAARGH,” he yelled the moment he felt her touch, grabbed a magazine rack and rammed it on the ground where it fell to pieces, its magazines splayed across the floor.
My brother ran away from home that night. He stormed out the door and ran, never looking back. My eldest followed him after he realised what had happened, but came back a couple of hours later without him. “I lost him, he said quietly. My mother was still on the floor. My eldest and I met in my room where I asked him where he went and what he saw.
“It’s dark and it’s raining, I lost him very early on. I couldn’t find him anywhere.”
When we emerged from the room, my mother was waiting at the front gate. he would wait there for days. it didn’t stop raining for many weeks after that storm.
It wasn’t long before her rage lost its power My brother and I grew bigger, averaging about five and three-fourths feet, but my mother shrank as she aged. Her knees grew weak, and her hair silvered. I blamed her, but I know she blamed herself more. She became quieter, tending to her garden with store-bought fertiliser, her bougainvillaea pruned down to the society sanctioned height. She took her M-T-W-T-F-S-S medications on routine. My brother left the country when he found the opportunity, and sent back whatever support he could, calling on birthdays, but rarely otherwise. I went to school, read my books, and watched the news in the evenings. I felt sorry for her, so I stayed close enough to help, but also far enough to not get hurt.
One night, as I slept, I dreamt I ran out the front door.
It was raining and it was dark, but I was driven by a feeling, a powerful, terrifying feeling, that carried me forward. I ran down the road, behind the parked cars, through the park I used to play in, until I reached a window lit by the faint glow of a candlelight, and I listened to the sound of a flute. It told me to turn around, and so I did, and came to a wall, which I climbed. On the other side of the wall was a hill lit by the morning sun, and perched on top was a large, feathery tree with its branches gently swaying in the wind. I heard the cries of people, and when I climbed to the top of the hill, I saw them run away, chased by several large wild cats. There was a lake in the distance, surrounded by more hills, and buildings creeping up through the valleys. I turned towards the large tree, unbothered by the plight of the people running away, and saw an albino tiger settled on one of the branches. They were licking their paws, cleaning between the nooks and crannies. Their tail was gently, but deliberately, dangling underneath them. I saw my mother, seated, on the grass below, younger, gentler, wearing white. She patted the ground next to her, inviting me to sit down.
“Aren’t you afraid?” I asked her.
“All the time.”
“But you won’t run?”
“Where to?”
I paused. Then I asked, “Doesn’t it hurt?”
“So much, baby, so much,’”she said. “But it’s a powerful thing, this anger.”
“It’s destructive. It hurts everyone in the way. We’re better without it.”
“It can be all that, it usually is. And perhaps we are.”
“But?”
“But? I’m not here to teach you, baby, you already know.”
The tiger let out a stretchy yawn, and jumped off the branch. They landed on their paws in front of us, and stood facing away, waiting, as if to say ‘come.’ I got up, and when I turned to my mother, she was no longer there. The tiger started to move, and I followed..
About the contributor:
1. Ishaan Student
Ishaan is a student in 10th grade and he likes poetry. His favourite poet is William Wordsworth.
2. Seher Dareen
Seher was part of the cohort that participated in the workshop titled "Capturing Carbon"
3. Shivam Rai Former Chemist
Shivam, a former Chemist at Biocon group, is presently engaged in pursuing his Ph.D in Carbon Capture and Reduction Technologies at the University of Alabama. He possesses a keen interest in literature and the effective dissemination of scientific knowledge
4. Anagh Shukla Student
Anagh Shukla is a 16-year-old budding writer and aspiring poet, who is a Grade 11 student at Legacy School Bangalore. A passionate researcher, he is working to incorporate biological, philosophical, and technical concepts into his writing.
5. Akshatha Chandrashekar
Ph.D. Scholar
PhD scholar in Ramaiah University of Applied Sciences. I'm trying to figure out my life’s equation with science, writing, singing and food.
6. Shireen Khatri Artist
Shireen is an Artist and Writer practising in Bangalore. Her work often uses recycled text and imagery to create experimental and satirical pieces in various mediums and genres.
7. Tusharleela Hosur
Artist/ Academic
T is an artist-academic working via the substrate of memory, They are currently writing a book on Consciousness.
8. Amruth Bhat Student
I'm a final year master's student at the Indian Institute of Science, Bengaluru studying Bioengineering
9. Arnav Gupta Student
Arnav is a student of Class 11 going to Samsidh MLZS. He is a student of science and loves reading and writing.
10. Rucha Shobhane Student
Rucha is a class 12 student in National Public School, Yeshwanthpur. She is passionate about science and loves reading and telling stories.
11. A Madhan Student
A boundary-pushing physicist bridging the realms of science and literature, exploring the elegant dance between equations and words.
12. Aayushi Agarwal Academic Editor
Aayushi works at a science communication and technology company and has a B.Tech degree in biotechnology
13. Dhruvtara Writer
Dhruvatara works for Sangam House, is looking to apply for her Masters, and is keen on spending as much time she can around/under/atop trees despite her urban lifestyle.
About the Editor
Jay Barber Writer
Jay Barber is a 2023 Fulbright-Nehru Academic and Professional Excellence Teaching Scholar. She lives in Buffalo, New York, where she is a professor of writing and director of the Journalism Certificate program at the University at Buffalo. Jay has written essays for Brevity, and Flyway, science articles for Temblor, and community-based journalism for Buffalo Rising. Jay has taught creative and academic writing for over 15 years. Her teaching focuses on student agency and linguistic justice.