chatak

Graphic Illustration by Abiral Kumar and Mainak Mitra

Sarag Dida, Paani De! Paani!
Brother sky, water! Give me water!

These verses from a Garhwali folk song animate the story. The etiological myth of the Chatak bird ends with the metamorphosis of a girl cursed by her cattle perishing from thirst to be forever condemned to similar craving that can only be quenched by raindrops falling from the sky.

Following the theme of the issue, we trace the shapes of pause | collect | sustain by filling out the negative spaces between them. In other words, our attempt is to understand these interlinked ideas by tracing out their opposite, but intrinsically related, and equally defining, notions of movement | scatter | surrender. Our short graphic narrative follows the movement of a small chatak bird across the city and its neighbourhood areas in search of water.

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editor's note

Volume 09

clay | chlorophyll | crimson

Grass is green where you water it. LC’s words float along over Misch’s guitar. It’s a phrase that feels so obvious, and I’m sure those who tend to gardens know this more than most, but it seems to land more than before. The impact noticeable, memorable, echoing through my being. Perhaps we’re ingrained to think it’s greener elsewhere. This patch is the problem and not whether we’re watering it. The key is in the watering. How we go about this practice is what defines our patch of grass. No matter where we go, our patch is, perhaps, the same. Some attributes and characteristics have been changed but the essence is the same: Us.

Stepping into Volume 09 of imprint, marks our third year. I am learning that this patch of green that we have been tending to for the last several years will mould, shift, and sculpt. This depends on how we water it and allow it to take its own shape. It has already happened in wonderfully unexpected ways. There is only so much structure or shape we can predetermine. Beyond that, it will absorb what it needs and reject all that is unnecessary. And perhaps, in this practice, we are changed. Our grass is watered as we water that of our writing, our image making, our practice, our magazine.

From light to dark, rigid to supple, new to old, there is so much in between that is bright and vibrant and unexpected. The practice of our magazine has focused on being open to what we receive; being open to deeply listening to what is shared; being open to work taking us to new journeys. This volume, and this year, will be no different. We will continue tending to it as we have done, learning along the way, from past seasons and present ones.

And yet, I know it will be entirely different.
But still.
It will be watered.