Katcha
Some words only come with certain things you want to describe. How do I explain to him what rain-on-sweaty-dark-grey-roads-with-moist-dupattas-and-sodden-bleeding-newspapers is? And then, if I do explain to him, how do I explain to him why I want to go back to it?
The word "katcha". Raw. It changes the word "katcha". It hardens it, sharpens it, gives it edges. Katcha is so simple. It's of katchay apples, and katchi mitti, and katchay amrood. It's of katchay pattay and katchi roti. Simple. No paper cuts there. Language is of memory. And language is of instinct. Words are not the allignment of letters and punctuation, but a microcosm of a million circling flashcards in my head. When I say "katcha", these flashcards pause in midsentence, turn back, and suddenely, come rushing back to the same spot that I had once stood in. They collide. And a word is born.
How do I explain to you, the birth of me?
Tell me.
I want you to live the word. And the language. I want you to live me.
The word "katcha". Raw. It changes the word "katcha". It hardens it, sharpens it, gives it edges. Katcha is so simple. It's of katchay apples, and katchi mitti, and katchay amrood. It's of katchay pattay and katchi roti. Simple. No paper cuts there. Language is of memory. And language is of instinct. Words are not the allignment of letters and punctuation, but a microcosm of a million circling flashcards in my head. When I say "katcha", these flashcards pause in midsentence, turn back, and suddenely, come rushing back to the same spot that I had once stood in. They collide. And a word is born.
How do I explain to you, the birth of me?
Tell me.
I want you to live the word. And the language. I want you to live me.
posted by Shekure Darashikoh at 9:07 PM
1 Comments:
Katcha.
The word leaves the taste of kheer in a mud thootee.The last bit that you scrap off.
:)
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