Since time immemorial I have this strong connection with the moon and its hysterical cries that reach my ears. My eyes have on many lonely nights seen the weeping of the moon. As the moon laments its constant refrain of being behind the sun always, when all one can see is the Sun’s bright light, the moon like a shy lover is behind that curtain of the large cloud. No one knows the moon is ashamed of the craters on its visage. It’s always misunderstood as being reticent and shy. But the moon is ashamed and not shy. Shy are bashful lovers and ashamed are those who are made conscious of their nudity of nature and being.
So many names the Moon has. Some call it Chand and some Mehtaab and some Shashi. The full moon is beauteous like the last note of a song as it reaches its crescendo. That moon so many love but few watch the metamorphosis of its being. I have especially loved the crescent moon, it has a story of its own.
A story is there in that half moon. The lifeline of that luminous energy is captured in the bosom of overpowering clouds and often it is allowed just a little a peep of the unfathomable skies and the stars shining around it. The moon smiles in its feminine energy. Basking in that love and cocoon. It is a sham, because the moon is made to believe it is safe. It is not safe, it is being hidden from shining into its ultimate light.
So much has been written on the beauty of the moon and the craters that make is breathtakingly beautiful. But on lonely nights I have heard the moon howling into the night. It breaks into the skies after the Sun is tired of shining fiercely during the day. Like a proud celestial star it stands proud full of fire. Once it retires and is done for the day, this is the time of the moon that takes small steps out of that shadow to shine through the all pervading darkness. It reminds me of a woman who is allowed her light to propel her forward when all around her is done with their selfish claim of her spirit and time.
My Chandbali as I wore, I saw the crescent moon again half shy and half bold. Just like you and me. A mixture of the years of the amalgamated control and also small doses of mercy. The patriarch feels good giving you your freedom. Just like the moon, you too don’t know the strength you have with in you. Just as the tired fierce sun is burnt and done for the hours. We too remain unconscious of the luminescence of our being forever. We remain caged within that sense of what is doled out to us.
This is an ode to that crescent moon that is an Mughal inspired design. I often think of the many Queens who have waited endlessly for her King wearing this Chandbali on a full moon night. Her wait was not recorded in history but on her skin and her spirit.
Just as the faithful awaits the sighting of the Friday moon and the full moon in its splendor. The meeting of the two crescent moons to form a union is an inspiration of the Chandbali jewellery. It speaks of the union of two broken parts trying to form one shape.
My Chandbali with my sari is my statement of being full yet broken in parts that made me strong. As I push the hair away from my back and look down to the wet earth, I feel the end of the earring touch the nape of my neck with gentleness as it whispers to me, “that today was just another day, to the countless days ahead in life, as the crescent moon is trying to shine through the dark shadow of the clouds, you will emerge too in your light” .
It reiterates the saga of women, who forever will constantly try to inch towards freedom in love, friendship, marriage and all the myriad roles she plays this lifetime. The crescent moon may remain half hidden and half shorn of its totality, yet the darkest clouds will not be able to hinder her shining bright, with whatever is left of her light amidst the darkness all around.