The Sky is Green          

“The sky is green, and it’s killing me.

It’s suffocating my thoughts, my senses, and all of me.

It’s strangling my consciousness; it’s strangling my breath.

The sky is green and I cannot breathe. I cannot see, and I cannot dream.

The big green cloud that lurked at the edge of the horizon, has consumed the whole sky now, and the fear in our hearts has consumed us whole.

The air is thick with longing for yesterday, and lost hope in tomorrow.

The air is thick with scum.

The marching band is playing but, I cannot hear it anymore.

The elephants are praying but, God isn’t here anymore.

The God that lived above in the skies, he is green as well.

Green as the sky. Green as the weeds that strangle the streams. Green as the moss that grew over me.

Green as the cash that pollutes humankind. Green as the greed that maddens their minds.

The sky is green and so is me.

Woe, oh woe is me.”

Once upon a time, there lived a stream. Tucked away in the depths of the city of Chrysos, which was known for its lush forests and sky-high buildings, its never-ending highways, and ever flowing streams. Yes, abundance was quite the characteristic of this utopian city. However, it was quite odd, you see. Nature and development going hand in hand? Sounds like a revolutionary fever dream. Dreams, they’re funny things because they never seem to last.

I too had a dream, clutched under my fin, as I crossed the threshold of Chrysos, many monsoons ago. One of safety, comfort, and stability. The clear streams and lush forests welcomed me; holding out all the riches as promised. Safety, I found in the narrowness of the stream, with enough room for prey and none for predators. Comfort, I found in the quiet little crevices and under the trusty rocks which lay abundantly. Stability, I found, or so I thought, in the never flooding monsoons and the ever-flowing summers of the stream. I guess it was foolish of me to hope for constancy. But I began confidently, to build a home, and soon enough, I had a family, a community, and a sense of belonging in this stream. I was no longer a refugee in Chrysos, and Chrysos began to feel like home. Every morning, I looked up from under my rock, the sturdiest one in the east end of the stream, and I saw the birds and the trees, as my little kids got ready to leave for their daily lessons. The sun shone brilliantly over us and we found comfort in its warmth.

The façade slowly started to fall apart when Chrysos began becoming crowded. Many hopeful eyes wandered into the land for a better tomorrow, and the streets were filled with their hurried feet. This increased population meant that the usual supply of food and water was not enough to feed Chrysos anymore. They started scouring the water bodies, poking it with their fishing rods, in hopes of a meal. They started draining the streams, slowly but surely, for their daily needs, and hence, life got less stable, less comfortable, and less secure in my stream.

We slowly grew accustomed to these disruptions, as they never seemed to affect us directly. Sure, they were happening all around us; but we were still able to move on with our lives, almost normally. However, more and more disruptions began to arise around us. We were now occasionally woken up, almost startled, by the loud thuds of trees falling to the earth, and the chainsaws whirring, as if to assert their dominance, and celebrate their victory over the greenery. We couldn’t understand exactly why, but the more the trees fell, the more uncomfortable the summers got and the monsoons, sparser and unsatiating. We did however learn to look past this slight discomfort, as home was not so easy to let go of. We also learned to swerve past the killer baits on their fishing lines, and smartly adapt to every new challenge thrown our way. Some challenges leave you happy to be alive. Others make you wish you weren’t.

One fine morning, I awoke from my slumber and was hit with the familiar bitterness of the cloudy water in my stream. I squinted at the harsh rays of the sun, as I looked up from under my rock and remembered the birds that used to sing. I sensed something unfamiliar in the currents. A strange flow, emanating from a hole in the wall of the stream. I tried looking in, but the strong current pushed me away. This flow felt even more bitter and polluted. It felt like if I stayed there long enough, it could burn away my fins. So, I quickly rushed back home and thought of how it would be, if I leave. I suddenly got sick of myself, and my inability to leave. I was no longer being courageous or flexible; I was being a coward! Slowly accepting things which could harm my family, for the sake of some stone that I learned to call home. My home was not a place; it was my family. I decided it was time to move on. I packed my things and led my family to another part of the stream; an unfamiliar crevice where we decided to finally unpack our things. I checked for any polluted inflow of water near us and was glad to find none. I finally felt that I could breathe again, and I felt relieved to have escaped. But I could never brush it off, this feeling that something followed us here; that some piece of that pollution stuck to our fins and travelled with us…

Life took some time to feel normal again. I was grateful for the safety we found here, but the longing for home still lingered. Nostalgia overwhelmed me on easy afternoons, when the world was not so harshly bright and flashes from the past attacked my peace. I remembered how it used to be. The days were filled with laughter and joy, even if we had to sleep hungry sometimes. On days when the stream turned up its empty pockets, our stomachs were filled with the sense of comfort that home provided. The community that we so lovingly boasted about was lost in a day. I regretted not saying goodbye, but the fear of not being able to find safety led me to focus on more selfish needs of mine. Now I wonder where they are.

Something else creeped into my mind along with these thoughts. Thoughts of home, my first home, the one so unmistakably mine; the one I left behind to never look back. No amount of comfort can ever take me back to the comfort I felt there, where I was just a child. I felt this pang at my heart as I thought of how I was forced to grow up too fast; for the sake of having it all, for the sake of holding on.

I quickly dismissed my thoughts. “That’s just how it is. Life is full of changes and you’ll never find peace if you miss it all so deeply,” I said to myself, as I took a deep breath. I noticed a weed next to the wall of the stream. The leaves had an unfamiliar shape, and I smiled at the beautiful new visitor.

The visitor however overstayed its welcome. It felt as if the weed was draining the river as it grew bigger. And boy did it grow big. Days passed like weeks did, and we watched the weed grow bigger and bigger, every time we breathed.

We were intrigued at first; it was striking to see; the vines that tangled and writhed together, the red veins of the weed so vivid against the green. We found ourselves in awe of this carpet of green, slowly unfolding over us. It gave us shelter against the brutal rays of the sun, and its protective cover helped us hide from the fishing rods that descended from above with cruel intent. We enjoyed this awning over us, and though short-lived, our amazement filled the days.

Soon it was all over us. A roof of sorts, covering us from the rest of reality; like a blanket, muffling all sound and movement that lay beyond it. We felt a disconnect with reality. The feeling was uncomfortable; like we were being intruded, kidnapped, and isolated. We felt helpless as this greater force hovered above us with no intent to stop. That’s when we started to wish it away.

The water felt thicker as its roots sunk deeper into the stream. The sunlight we so often cursed, was completely lost to us now. White strands of fungus started weaving into my fins, and some sort of moss started colouring my face with its all consuming green. What was worse, was how difficult it was to breathe. The suffocation came then; slowly, slowly, and then all at once. It grew from some slight discomfort, to the strangling of our breaths, and we didn’t stop to think anymore.

We fled, as fast as we could. We swam against the current and found somewhere less green. This time, we had nothing to unpack and nothing to call our own. We still had each other, and the luxury of having air in our lungs. We felt grateful to have our lives spared. However, we became refugees again. The war with the weed had just begun, and the opponent was moving faster than our dreams.

Life became a race from then; always swimming from one place to the other, fearing a despicable weed that didn’t accept defeat. We were constantly moving, but we felt so trapped in the stream. There was no way out, without having to encounter the enemy. So, we kept swimming deeper and deeper into the city. The city made us feel less alone in some ways. Listening to the people go about their day, with their loud machinery and louder egos. We felt like we weren’t the only ones trapped somehow. Every time the noise started to fade; we knew it was time to swim again. Every time the water started to still, we picked up our pace.

One day as we swam, we saw something horrifying. A wall. An end to the stream that we so quickly spanned the length of. An end to our hopes of ever making it alive. Heavy sobs escaped us, as we stood defeated, seeing no way out. Honestly, we were so tired from this chase that we almost felt relieved that it was ending. We weren’t sure how much longer we could’ve kept going; but the fear of being suffocated to death made us cry out for help.

Suddenly, the water stirred above us. We braced ourselves for the familiar fishing lines that would descend soon. However, something completely unfamiliar came down instead. A web of sorts, big enough to fit my entire family in it. But the web didn’t have any intention of accommodating us all. It came down with one big splash and with a swift movement, it swooped up and I found myself trapped in its lines. Gasping for air, I was so stunned to even understand what was going on. I immediately felt scared as I realised that I was displaced from my family. I cannot not leave them alone! Though I was sure we were all meeting our end soon enough, it pained me to be away from them at the very end of our lives. Through thick and mostly through thin, we had stuck together. But now this cruel fate stripped me from the last shred of peace I had. My eyes began to close as the air got thinner and I slowly lost all consciousness.

To my surprise, I opened my eyes again. I expected to be someone’s meal but what I saw in front of my eyes, confused me. Blaring white lights and a sea of glass bowls. Each one, showing the magnified image of some poor fish, all alone, just like me. I saw a few dozen of them being loaded onto a truck, to be shipped away. The purpose of such an arrangement, eluded my imagination. Why keep us like this? Preserved in a bowl, too small for us to live, but just big enough for us not to die. Humanity confused me. I slowly lost all consciousness again. My mind started to fall through the cracks as I swam in that all-consuming chlorinated blue. Suddenly, the blue felt worse than the green and I realised my fate never really changed. I was still trapped like I was in the stream. But this time, there was no chase, and there was no weed, there was no green; and hope? None at all.

*

Anitta Boban Thomas is a student and writer, based in Bangalore, Karnataka. While her poetry usually revolves around her personal struggles and joys, she likes to use the short story format as a means to comment on social issues or phenomena.