Elements Issue 02

ELEMENTS
ISSUE 02

“Before me now there is only
one real fact—Death. The
truth I have been seeking—
this truth is Death. Yet Death
is also a seeker. Forever
seeking me. So—we have met
at last. And I am prepared.
I am at peace. Because I will
conquer Death with Death.”
—Bruce Lee
Editor
Umeshwar Mariappan
Writers
Samyak Yash Jain
Subodhini Vignesh
Designer
Mila Tsvetanova
Taking inspiration from the
elements of nature and the
cycle of life and death, our
team has curated a short
story, a poem and art that
accentuates how every being
birthed by the elements of
nature shall rightfully return
to them. When this happens,
balance is established.

FIRE
FIRE
FIRE
FIRE
FIRE
FIRE
WATER
WATER
FIRE
FIRE
FIRE
FIRE
FIRE
FIRE
WATER
EARTH EARTH EARTH
EARTH EARTH
EARTH
EARTH
EARTH
EARTH
AIR AIR AIR AIR AIR
AIR AIR AIR AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR
AIR AIR AIR AIR

little
spirit
BY SUBODHINI VIGNESH
breathe
feeling the infinite l i t t l e p i e c e s
that make you a whole.
tiny feet d a
n
c i n g
to the tunes of your beating heart
as the intricately woven song of existence
unites the elements of fire, earth, air and water
to birth you.
listen to the song she sings
in praise of these beings which create you,
creating her.
she d a n c e s with
the grace of flowing pure crystal water,
yet with the fierceness of raging fire
and your song she sings in the
imperfectly perfect rhythm of the blowing wind
and highs and like that of mother earth.
lows
but every song has its last verse.
one day, when the elements of fire, earth, air and water
take you into their embrace,
the spirit of life stops singing,
you shall reach the place that bore your birth as it shall be your demise.

THE
SPIRIT
OF
LIFE
STOPS
SINGING
as it shall be your demise
you shall reach the place that bore your birth

lthe circle of life the circle of
ife the circle of lif
Pink
&
Grey
By Samyak Yash Jain
circ
le
“Why did you go so soon, old man?” I whispered into the
chilly cold air of November.
I was standing in front of the freshly covered
grave of my father. The soil was still moist and
new weeds had already started growing. The
gravestone had now collected a thin layer of
dust. I took the sleeve of my grey cardigan and
wiped it down. My throat was still hoarse from
all the tears and screams. I took a step back.
“How do you like my dress, Dad?”
I smiled sadly and picked my pink dress from its
hem. I gave a small twirl to show it to him as I did
as a child. I had even done up my hair. I scoffed at
my stupidity. Tears started to cover my vision.
I turned and saw an aged man so pale that he
almost looked…translucent? Bark-like wrinkles
covered his face, lines that could have weaved
time itself. He looked wise. He was wearing a
three-piece shabby suit which looked as old as
the man himself. He looked like a butler straight
out of Downton Abbey.
He didn't blink. His piercing eyes stared right into
my eyes, breaking down the walls of my soul and
uncovering my dark secrets. He looked above
into the gloomy sky and said:
Now normally my reaction would have been to
shout ‘dafuq?’ and move away, but something
inside me instantly accepted this far-fetched fact.
I wasn’t a spiritual person, but something about
him and what he said made sense.
“And why are you here? Turning in a late soul perhaps?” I I
humoured. Well, I attempted, my coping
mechanism was not working at this moment.
“Why?”
“That was foolish,” an old and strained
voice came from beside me.
“And who might you be?” I replied shrilly, wondering why
this queer man was standing at the right of me and
why I hadn’t heard his footsteps.
“Funny,” I scoffed.
He smirked. “No, your father’s soul
was already taken at the funeral. He
is as of now…walking down the path,
as you might say.”
I didn’t ask where. Knowing my father it was a
fifty-fifty chance that he would turn up in heaven
or travelling down the nine circles of hell.
“You still haven’t answered the question.”
“Death,” he said in a low tone.
“Some call me a collector of souls.
You might call me the grim reaper.”
“There was a death nearby. A child.
Lived only nine years in this realm.”
My breath hitched. A thousand and one words
ready to be spilt out, but only my foggy breath
escaped. We both stood there, in surprisingly
comfortable silence. He was enjoying the
weather and I was spiralling. I had a hundred
different questions but only one passed through
my lips:
“He fell down the stairs.”
“No…I mean…why do people die. Why do good
people, innocent children, die?”
He paused for a few moments, collecting his
thoughts to form a coherent sentence that may
be understood by a mortal like me.
“Well in simple words, everything must
end. That's the natural order. Rich, poor,
children, the elderly; everyone and
everything is made up of this very dirt
you stand upon. The elements of nature
formed them and well, they surely must
return to where they come from, don’t
you think?”
He turned to me, a knowing smile spread across
his face, wrinkling it even more. My mind
fluttered off. Elements—was it all there is?
“The circle of life,” I concluded.
“Yes,” he said, reading my mind. “Of
course it is the elements. Men, women,
conservatives, homosexuals, poor…these
are labels you give yourself. You all were
born equally. Well, maybe not with
equal opportunities and wealth, but all
of you are made up of the same things—
the only thing that anyway seems to be
common in you humans nowadays. Your
society has divided itself into incorrigible
little sects that refuse to budge and
cooperate. Refuse to unite. Refuse…to
look beyond. You all are so bound up by
the chains you have formed that you have
forgotten humanity. You have forgotten
the very fact that you all are the same.
You refuse to believe that you are
common. That you may not be special.”
“Yes, now you understand,” he said in
relief. “You’re all the same. We get paid
the same for all souls. What makes you
think that you all are different is that you
may be superior to your fellow beings.
You are made up of elements and you
disintegrate into those same elements.
It’s only your mind that thinks
differently, your body knows the truth.”
He glanced at his gold watch that hung loosely
on his bony wrist.
“I must go now, don’t want to be late and
anger the boss!” He said pointing
towards the sky.
He gave me a small nod and started walking with
his back to me.
“Wait!” I bellowed.
“Ah! The very question that has boggled
the minds of philosophers and grieving
mothers. Pondering over and over again
when finally resorting to, well, insanity.”
He stopped and turned his head.
“Why did you choose to meet me and talk to me?”
He replied in his wheezing voice:
“I liked your dress.”
He smiled and disappeared into the fog.

The grace of f lowing pure crystal water.The grace of f lowing pure crystal water.T he g race of f lowing pure crystal water. The grace of f lo

mother earth mother earth mother earth mother earth

Maati kahe kumhar se, tu kya rondhe mohe
Ek din aisa aayega, mein rondhugi tohe
The soil says to the potter:
“Why do you crush me?
We must be humble and
kind and try to learn from
everything. What you do to
others will return to you. A
secondary meaning to this is
that the earth is questioning
the potter. Why does he
create objects from the same
mud that he will eventually
disintegrate in when he dies?
A day will come when I will crush you.”
—Saint Kabir Das