WHAT DOES 'REBIRTH' MEAN TO YOU? - A THOUGHT COMPILATION FROM SELECTED WRITERS

As the year winds to a close, I find myself thinking not just about slowing down and stillness but also about what's next? What will the next year be about? As always, the beginning of a new year could be a chance to reinvent yourself. And so, I thought it was time to do my final thought compilation of the year on just that. 

"In 500 words or less, what does 'rebirth' mean to you?" I asked the writers on my feed. Each had their own take - unique and moving. 

WHAT DOES 'REBIRTH' MEAN TO YOU? 

The Jigsaw Life

It is a quiet Sunday morning, the first rays of sunlight still hidden behind the clouds. 
As the aroma of my piping hot coffee fills up the living room, I grab my birthday gift, a 30-piece puzzle of my own self for crossing three decades successfully.
Emptied the puzzle box, the pieces dropping on the floor, and a hundred memories crossed in a flash.

The life that has gone by pops up in my head with every piece I turn to face me.
I reach out for the corners with ease. I've never been able to do that before. Digging through my deepest, darkest corners lies the fear of exams when in school, sweaty palms on knowing I was next on the ragging list in college, my vulnerable heart when in love, insecurities about choosing an unprecedented career path, nasty fights and unpleasant quarrels in our marriage, long nights, exhaustion and stress from the responsibility of being a mom, and heartache over my ageing parents.

Now that the corners are behind me, it's time to group them by colours.
Oh! How I love this fun part! 

I silently smile thinking of the golden stars and black marks from my favourite and not-so-favourite teachers, blues of the water and secret trips down to the beach with my girlfriends, frequent red roses of courtship, yellow flashlights as I shot ads with celebrities, long drives through green valleys with the husband at the steering, rosy pink cheeks, adorable babbles and sloshy kisses from my little miss, white walls of peace with my head resting on my mother's lap and legs stretched out on my father's.

Yes, it's done! I fixed them all and looked at a happy mini me staring right back at an older version, an unforgettable childhood photo of me in a beautiful pink lehenga, holding my first cup after winning a dance competition.

Winner ! Sweet to the ears...replaced fear with hardwork and crossed every exam that came my way later, brought back my sense of humour along with a bunch of seniors as my best friends, romance and courage turned our love into marriage, faith in my talent earned the trust of my coworkers, pure joy of my fingers wrapped in yours gave me the strength to protect you my baby and the unconditional love of my parents is what keeps me going everyday.

What a journey it has been to find my true self over and over again in every role that I play everyday...if this is not rebirth, what is! 

All pieces of my heart are now complete.

By Sowmya Ravichandran

On Instagram as @sowindia2000

***

Rebirth through Metamorphosis  

Rebirth, for me, is the culmination of the transformation that a caterpillar goes through while it is in the chrysalis. After eating a large amount of food, the 'hungry caterpillar' decides to rest for a while. Looking for a suitable post to hold onto slowly reduces its activity. Then, the pupa formation starts. In a human world where speed is valued very much, this action of inaction is quite rebellious in nature. 

There is a mystery to it, and the observer cannot see what's happening inside the chrysalis. Hanging around in one point, the transformation process is internal, invisible to a certain extent, and uncertain, too. There are many cases where the metamorphosis is not completed, and the organism dies for some reason. Yet to be a butterfly, the caterpillar will have togo through this risk. It will take days, but the duration depends on each individual. That shows that everyone is special in their own way. 

Ideally, there is no way to hurry this process in a natural scenario. When the butterfly is ready to emerge, it also takes time to fly. It might have finished off the leaves as a caterpillar. Still, taking fresh steps into the earth as a butterfly, there are certain innate rules that it might follow to survive the first few hours. Staying put in a place where it gets time to dry and unfold the wings is essential for the butterfly. Any minor misjudgement or a fall can cause permanent damage to the wings, which will end the insect's life even before it starts.  

So, after taking time, when the butterfly is ready, it flies away and starts its new journey. This time, it is away from the host plant that fed and protected it, towards an unknown adventure ahead. Here, the rebirth of a butterfly denotes freedom to explore and the courage to leave one's comfort zone.  

The caterpillar got its wings, 
By sacrificing some of its favourite things.
If it had held on to what was familiar for a long duration,
Its rebirth as a butterfly will never reach the effective culmination.

By Nishand Venugopal

On Instagram as @nishandvenugopal

***

The Roads We Leave Behind

Rebirth is not a thing of fire and ash, not some grand spectacle that splits the heavens or rends the earth. It's quieter than that. Subtle. It comes with no herald, no proclamation. It comes in the small hours when the world is still, in the hollow moments where one path ends and another begins. You live a thousand lives in the span of one, though you rarely notice the dying of the last until the new one is well begun. A man doesn't look back on the lives he's left behind, for fear they might still be there, waiting.

The first life you lose is your own. Not the breathing, blood-pumping kind, but the life you thought you'd live, the one you carried in your mind like a map you never doubted. It dies the day you learn the world is larger than your wanting. The paths are not marked, the forks come suddenly, and the map you held was never for this land. You bury that life quietly, without eulogy, and go on. That is rebirth.

And then there's the life you lived with others. Friends who walked beside you, lovers who burned bright and were gone. You change, they change, and you wake one day in the ashes of what you shared. The road forks again, and you take it because there's no staying where you are. Another death, another birth. You press on, your shadow stretching long behind you, dragging the shapes of lives you can no longer reach.

Sometimes rebirth comes with joy, though you don't see it that way at first. A child born, a house built, a promise made. You step through a door and find yourself a new man, one you didn't know you could be. These lives, they come with their own weight, their own chains. But they're yours all the same, and you carry them as far as you can. Until you can't. And then the cycle starts again. Another choice, another life, another you.

And what of the choices? The roads you've walked and the ones you've left behind. Rebirth is not without its reckoning. The world turns, and it remembers. The deeds of one life come back in another, not across lifetimes but within the same stretch of years. The seeds you sow in one version of yourself bloom in another. The harvest is yours alone, for good or ill. The world does not forget. Each rebirth is shaped by the last, and there is no true beginning. Only continuance.

You don't think about the lives you've lived. Not much. But in the quiet moments, they press close. You see yourself in fragments, like looking into a shattered mirror. A man who was and wasn't. A boy who dreamed. A father who tried. You wonder if there's any thread that ties them all together, any root that makes them all you. And maybe there is, but it doesn't matter. The road only goes forward, and the man you were is a shadow fading in the growing light.

Rebirth is not a single act. It's a lifetime of them - A thousand small deaths, a thousand quiet beginnings. And with each one, the debts are paid, the scales balanced. Not in some distant afterlife, but here and now, in the lives we live and leave behind. Maybe that's what life is. Not the keeping of oneself, but the becoming of many. Over and over until the road runs out.

By Nitin Arvind

On Instagram as @nitinarvind

***

Rebirth

She shielded her scars with a zillion nebulas,

in her searing heart.

Longing for a renaissance of peace,

She chose to dwell inside the darkness of truth.

The truest form of oneself,

Can be attained in rebirth, she believed.

Did she yearn for rebirth?

Did she imagine celestial harmony ?

She fiercely dreamt of a world for all. 

A world that accepts,

Broken wings without prejudice.

Her blood and veins danced gracefully,

To her last sonnet of solitude.

Breathing rhythms bid adieu,

To this mysterious universe.

Afar, in the fields of the grave, 

I see her marching towards,

The land of her rebirth.

Let her whimsical dreams,

Of another world, a new world,

Be closer to her reach,

With no imposters and agony. 

By Subhashini R

On Instagram as @myquirkywritingproject

***

Editor's Note: 

I want to thank all the writers who responded to this prompt. I loved reading your interpretations, and I'm sure the readers will, too.
For other writers looking for prompts, stay tuned to "Storytelling with Shweta" on Instagram, where I post writing tips, book recommendations and more for aspiring writers or those looking to make the space for writing in their lives. I'll be back with a new call for submissions in January 2025. So do stay tuned. 

Till then, wishing you all peace, joy and a wonderful start to 2025. 

Shweta Ganesh Kumar,
Storyteller-in-chief, Inkspire.