The Dewdrop World

One of the greatest masters of haiku, Kobayashi Issa, wrote a haiku that goes: 

The dewdrop world 

Is a dewdrop world 

And yet…and yet. 

This is Robert Aitken’s translation, as quoted in his book River of Heaven. The dewdrop world refers to the ephemeral nature of life. I read this haiku only a few days ago, but since it’s been playing on loop in my mind like a scratchy record. At first it made me think of the time when I was young and learned the word ‘ephemeral’, the reason this memory juts out so oddly is that I understood the word, learnt to spell it, but for the life of me could not pronounce it. Since then I’ve simply avoided using this word, and instead just say ‘fleeting’ when I must. 

As things go, I’m writing this, and not saying a single word of this aloud, so I’ll write ephemeral as much as I like. Ephemeral, ephemeral, ephemeral. Issa’s haiku was written shortly after the death of his young daughter, which makes the final line all the sadder. Yes, it’s an ephemeral world, but there are moments and memories that ground us and halt us in the world of the living. We are forced to experience and sometimes, to stay still. Grief does that, I’ve discovered, it stills you so passionately that you wonder if you will ever move again. If this moment is ever to be escaped. 

On the inverse, there are moments that point to life’s brevity where the sudden realization that life is slipping like sand through your fingers hits. The dewdrop world comes to reckon: did you forget that your existence is only a blip, neither here nor there? I had one of these moments today, as I was drinking chai with my family in the garden. With chai, we eat a variety of snacks: today’s menu featured kachoris, orange cake, namkeen, and roasted peanuts. The peanuts had been freshly roasted, and as I scooped some into my palm, and felt their warmness gently fade in my hands, I thought that life was fleeting. The garden I sat in was a forest centuries ago, and will be wasteland centuries after. In a month, I will have no recollection of this evening whatsoever. One day, my whole family will be gone, and there will be no one left to know that I cupped warm peanuts in my palms to eat. 

I quietly did some investigating (asked two of my friends when they thought life was most fleeting), and this is what they had to say: KCB said life is most fleeting when she’s working really hard and reaping the benefits, for she has no time to pause to feel. Does this mean she takes no note of the passage of time? Or is it that if you don’t feel, you’re not really living? UC, on the other hand, said life seems most fleeting on festivals, when she thinks back to the festivals in the years past. I think that’s a very apt time to experience this type of malaise. For me, it occurs in mundane moments, like the night before traveling, right before a night out, watching cars go by, switching off the light before bed. 

What Issa meant by the last line (in my interpretation) is the grounding of self despite the rational knowledge that the life is ephemeral. “And yet….and yet.” The dewdrop world is what it is, yet we endure. The peanuts remain warm for a few seconds before succumbing, and I’ll remember that feeling for some time yet.