from the water to the water

on memory, song & the colonisation of water

Last year I was commissioned to write an essay for Radio Ballads: Songs for Change, by Serpentine Gallery. This book, out recently, is a thick collection of words, images, songs and dreams from UK-based civic care workers of many kinds. You can find it in the Serpentine Bookshop and also on the internet. I haven’t read it yet, but under the loving guidance of Lizzie Graham, I know it’s special.

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I chose to write about water as a tool of colonisation through the lens of the Palestinian genocide and historic canal building across South Asia. Things I think about a lot! I also made an accompanying playlist and you can find it all below. kiss

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“How many seas must we cross inside the desert?“

The Hoopoe, Mahmoud Darwish

they say water has memory. that each drip within a drop is a kaleidoscope of caressed cliffs and sewage pipes and baby bird feet and heaven. but when the sea softens glass does it hurt? what ratio of plastic to cloud will be optimum for recall? when will it be vengeful, i mean, Will it save us?

i have always loved the rain. The only time i felt god might be real is when i imagined him crying, the rain. I remember being coaxed inside from spinning in the storm to dry off watching Mohra or another bollywood film in which they will inevitably dance in the warm monsoon rains.

Paani ne aag lagayi / Aag lagi dil mein toh / Dil ko teri yaad aayi.

The water had started a fire / When my heart was on fire / Then my heart remembered you

Sadly i have yet to slide down a car bonnet into the arms of the man i love but wet saris made me gay, of that i am sure.

why do we say the world is ending when we mean, specifically, that we are making the world inhospitable to our own species, among others (i know why). Is it ego or do we know something? (we don’t).

It is true that every day, the MTA pumps millions of gallons of water out of New York’s subway system and that if electricity stopped and generators stopped, then the pumps would stop, and within half an hour the tunnels would begin to flood. Within days soil under the pavements would erode and within weeks the streets would buckle. it would be the end of something, but oh so many new swamps, or the remembrance of old ones.