Monday, July 17, 2006

TWO DOGS

THE TRAFFIC CAME TO A SCREECHING HALT
A LAME BEGGAR RAN FOR HIS LIFE
THE INDOLENT POLICEMAN STOPPED PICKING HIS NOSE
TO PUFF FRANTICALLY AT HIS WHISTLE
AND HUMAN VOICES MINGLED TO MAKE
A CACAPHONY OUT OF HONKING HORNS

AS TWO DOGS
ONE NEEDLESSLY FOLLOWING ANOTHER
CROSSED THE BUSY ROAD
IN SEARCH OF THEIR TAILS
TO WAG FROM THE OTHER SIDE

IN MOCK AMUSEMENT
AT THE UNCIVILISED NOISE
AND FUROR OF HUMAN ENTERPRISE

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Knowing the Self

Among us human beings, who is supposed to know most about oneself: the self, or the person as seen by others. Interesting question. Naturally, one must know about oneself the most that is knowable; others simply and understandably not being privy to it. On the other hand, one's perception of himself or herself, if not shared by others, is totally invalid, and rejected. Societally, the way one is perceived, and not the way one is, or thinks one is, is the ultimate arbiter and judge. This is yet another paradox; one of those on which paradoxes thrive. Paradox, as paradox; is there anything more paradoxical.


The above is a good example of paradox; go on: try and figure it out. Ad infinitum.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Doing and Being Good


Sakaale uthhiya aami mone mone boli
Saara din aami jeno bhaalo hoye choli
Aadesh korenja mor gurujone
Aami jeno sheyi kaaj kori bhaalo mone


At break of day I (regularly, reverentially) tell myself
That the whole day I should act only exemplarily (well-mannered, virtuous, lofty acts)
Whatever my elders desire of me (order me, advise me)
Those tasks I will do most willingly (diligently, perseveringly)

The Bengali verse above has a permanent residence in my psyche for the past 50 years. I probably wrote it when I was 10 or 11; it is also possible that I heard it, or read it somewhere. I don't know the authorship. For all one knows, it can be also Tagore; but that is immaterial.

As I write these lines today, and open them up to anyone in the world who cares to look at them, I ask: How simple, how gentle, how little do those lines demand or expect. How much innocence and beauty and goodwill to the world we live in is contained in those innocuous lines. And yet, how much of it can be practised. Most importantly, how much did I practise. Honestly, a lot. But was it worth it; once again: Honestly, no. It has eroded me, left me vastly frightened and abraded, so much so that even a touch intended to soothe hurts. But despite that, I would like it to remain part of me, both its sound and intent, till my last breath.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Sunday

SUNDAY

AND NOT ONLY
BECAUSE THERE
IS TOO MUCH OF
SUN … AND I
DO NOT KNOW WHAT
TO DO …

THE BIRD CATCHES MY FANCY AND
INTENTLY BUT VACANTLY THE CLOUDS
BUT THERE ARE NO CLOUDS HOWEVER
AS I WAS SAYING THREE FACES OR
WERE THERE TWO I DO NOT KNOW
BUT WHY BOTHER ESPECIALLY BECAUSE
THREE IS ONLY TWO PLUS ONE WHAT
DO I MEAN BY THAT ANYWAY IT IS
ALL IRRELEVANT IN THE PRESENT
CONTEXT WHICH IS PRECISELY A BIRD
IN A CAGE SO WHAT A CAGE IS A
CAGE IS A CAGE AND NO MORE UNLESS
IT GROWS THAT REMINDS ME ABOUT
INCREMIN AND YOU KNOW GOODNESS
GROWCIOUS HA HA HA DO YOU GET
THE PHOTO HOW VERY STUPID I
MEAN NOT THE AD NOR THE BALCONY
AS THE BIRD IS NOT THERE BECAUSE
IT IS IN THE CAGE WHICH HAS GROWN
SO LARGE THAT THE BIRD IS NOT EVEN
VISIBLE IN IT THERE IT IS NOW
NEAR THE EQUATOR FOR THE CAGE HAS
LATITUDES PLATITUDES AND ALL THE
DIFFERENT ATTITUDES AND THERE IT
IS THERE IT IS I RECOGNISE THE
BIRD BECAUSE IT IS STILLED AND
HAS A FAMILIAR FACE EVEN IF
FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT

IT IS SUNDAY
PERHAPS ONLY BECAUSE THERE IS
SO MUCH OF SUN
AND I STILL DO
NOT KNOW WHAT
TO DO

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Rain Rain



RAIN, RAIN
I MUST BE REALLY PARCHED
SCORCHED AND BARREN
EVEN MORE THAN THE EARTH
WHICH YOU CRUELLY CONSUMMATE

TO WELCOME
RAPTUROUSLY
YOUR ADVENT,...(read the full poem here)

Saturday, July 08, 2006

The Price Of Truth

Relentlessly Being Under My Own Duress
I No Longer Know
If I Am My Protector
Or Executioner

Friday, July 07, 2006

Breathless Revisited

I had earlier posted the Hindi lyrics of the song Breathless, with a promise to provide English translation for non-Hindi readers. Before I could do so, a friend did me the favour of translating it and sending it to me. I am posting it below, for those of you who would be interested in the song, its music, and Javed Akhtar's lyrics.
Breathless

by Javed Akhtar, music composed and sung by Shankar Mahadevan
English translation by Bhashwati Sengupta

Koi jo mila to mujhe aisa lagta tha
jaise meri saari duniya main geeton ki rut
aur rangon ki barkha hai khushbu ki aandhi hai
mahki hui si ab saari fizaayen hain
bahki hui si ab saari hawaayen hain
khoyi hui si ab saari dishaayen hain
badli hui se ab saari adaayen hain

when I met her
it felt like
my whole world
is awash with the
season of songs and
showers of colour
storms of scents
the spheres turned fragrant
the breezes drunken
the directions went wandering
my gestures/ actions transformed

jaagi ummengein hain, dhadak raha ahi dil
sapnon main toofaan hain, hoton pe nagme hain
aakhon main sapne hain, sapnon main beete hue
se vo saare lamhe hain
jab koi aaya tha, jazron pe chhaya tha
dil main samaya tha, kaise main bataun tumhe

my heart beat with
my roused hopes
my turbulent dreams
my lips move in song
my eyes are dream filled
and my dreams hold
those past moments
when she arrived
to take over my feelings
and nestle in my heart


kaise use paaya tha, pyaarey sey chehre pe bikhri jo zulfein
to aisa lagta tha jaise kohre ke peechhe
ek os main dhula hua phool khila hai jaise
badal main ik chaand chhupa hai
aur jhaank raha hai jaise raat ke parde main
ek savera hai roshan roshan aakhon main
sapnon ka saagar jismain prem sitaron ki chaadar
jaise jhalak rahi hai
lahron lahron baat kare to jaise moti barse
jaise kahin chandi ki payal goonjey
jaise kahin sheeshe main jaam girey
aur chhann se tootey jaise koi chhip ke sitaar bajaye
jaise koi chaandni raat main gaye
jaise koi hole se paas bulaye

how can I describe to you
that beloved face
hidden in her tresses
like a dew washed blossom
behind a pall of fog /mist
like the moon behind the clouds
peering through the curtain of night
like a morn bright and brilliant
her eyes an ocean of dreams
that held a sparkling spread
of stars of love
each wave of her words
a shower of pearls
the echo of silver anklets
wine spilling breaking into a goblet
like hidden hands stroking
musical strings
like a song serenading
a moonlit night
like a soft
whisper that beckons

kaisi meethi baatain thee
vo kaisi mulakaatein thee
vo jab maine jaana tha
jazron se kaise pighalte hain dil
aur aarzoo paati hai kaise manzil
aur kaise utarta hai chaand jameen par
kaise kabhi lagta hai swarg agar hai
to bas hai yahin par

how sweet those words
how strange those encounters
when i learnt
how emotions melt the heart
how quests find the sought
how the moon alights on land
how earth at times may contain
the splendour of heaven

usne bulaya mujhe, aur samjhaya mujhe
hum jo mile hain, hamain aise hi milna tha
gul jo khile hain, unhe aise hi khilna tha
janmo ke bandhan, janmo ke rishtey hain
jab bhi hum janme to hum yun hi milte hain
kaanon main mere jaise, shahed sa ghulne lage
khwaabon ke dar jaise aakhon main khulne lage
khwaabon ki duniya bhi kitni haseen aur
kaisi rangeen thee khwaabon ki duniya
jo kahne ko thee par kahin bhi nahi thee

how she drew me near
to tell me
we were destined to meet
as flowers to bloom
these ties are forever
eternal our bond
each life time
has brought us together
her words like honey
filled my ears
held open in my eyes
the gates of a
many hued world
that existed
but was nowhere

khwaab jo toote mere, aakh jo khuli meri
hosh jo aaya mujhe
maine dekha maine jaana
vo jo kabhi aaya tha, nazron pe chhaya tha
dil main samaya tha, ja bhi chuka hai
aur dil mera ab hai tanha tanha
na to koi armaan hai, na koi tamanna hai
aur na koi sapna hai
ab jo mere din aur ab jo meri ratain hain
unmain sirf aansoon hain
unmain seif dard ki ranj ki batain hain
aur pharyaadein hain
mera ab bhi koi nahi main hoon aur khoye
hue pyaar ki yaadein hain (3)

when my dream lay shattered
when my eyes fell open
i found i saw
the one that had come
to light up my sight
to dwell in my being
is gone from me
bereft sits my soul
abandoned my heart
no hope remains
no longings linger
no one to call mine
drenched in tears
my days and nights
hold laments and pain
and my lone self
and memories
of my lost love


___________________________________________________________




when I met her
it felt like
my whole world
is awash with the
season of songs and
showers of colour
storms of scents
the spheres turned fragrant
the breezes drunken
the directions went wandering
my gestures/ actions transformed
my heart beat with
my roused hopes
my turbulent dreams
my lips move in song
my eyes are dream filled
and my dreams hold
those past moments
when she arrived
to take over my feelings
and nestle in my heart
how can I describe to you
that beloved face
hidden in her tresses
like a dew washed blossom
behind a pall of fog /mist
like the moon behind the clouds
peering through the curtain of night
like a morn bright and brilliant
her eyes an ocean of dreams
that held a sparkling spread
of stars of love
each wave of her words
a shower of pearls
the echo of silver anklets
wine spilling breaking into a goblet
like hidden hands stroking
musical strings
like a song serenading
a moonlit night
like a soft
whisper that beckons
how sweet those words
how strange those encounters
when i learnt
how emotions melt the heart
how quests find the sought
how the moon alights on land
how earth at times may contain
the splendour of heaven
how she drew me near
to tell me that
we were destined to meet
as flowers to bloom
these ties are forever
eternal our bond
each life time
has brought us together
her words like honey
filled my ears
held open in my eyes
the gates of a
many hued world
that existed
but was nowhere
when my dream lay shattered
when my eyes fell open
i found i saw
the one that had come
to light up my sight
to dwell in my being
is gone from me
bereft sits my soul
abandoned my heart
no hope remains
no longings linger
no one to call mine
drenched in tears
my days and nights hold
laments and pain and
my lone self
and memories
of my lost love

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Prehistoric or Futuristic




Prehistoric or Futuristic?

Both:

Prehistoric because it is full of curiosity and wonderment in comprehending life and the fascination of discovery;

Futuristic because of bewilderment at having lost everything as the cost of knowledge.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Maya

Shankaracharya was walking through a field near a village. Nearby, a farmer was ploughing his land. Elated at seeing such a great personage, he ran towards Shankaracharya to pay obeisance. Falling at his feet he asked, "O great one, tell me the secret of life." Impatient to leave, Shankaracharya replied, "It is all an illusion. There is nothing that is real," and began to walk away.

A buffalo from the field, seeing its master go towards Shankaracharya, also began to run towards him. Mistaking the buffalo's approach as an impending attack, Shankaracharya ran as fast as he could, hit a tree, and all but fainted, huffing and puffing.

The farmer controlled his buffalo and went to Shankaracharya with folded hands, and offered apologies and prayers. Then, most humbly, he asked "My lord, what happened? May I be pardoned for the impertinence of asking: Why did you run, and in the process injure yourself and make yourself breathless? The buffalo meant you no harm." Shankaracharya replied, "Idiot, what are you talking about?"

The farmer, completely out of his wits, looked at Shankaracharya and asked, "What, Sir? What are you saying? Did you not run, and risk injury to yourself? I assure you, Sir, the buffalo meant no harm."

Shankaracharya said, "You fool, I did not run, I have not injured myself, and what buffalo are you talking about? What you think you saw was an illusion. No such thing happened." Saying that, he left the farmer and the rest of mankind in perpetual bewilderment.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Perspectives

Perspectives are eternally in flux. They are never constant. They vary in a continuum as far as human beings are concerned, depending upon their circumstance, disposition, aptitude, success or failure. Perspectives have no reality because ultimately they do not have a constant point of reference. Large can be small, rich can be poor, poor can be richer than the poorer. Beauty or absence of it, or the measure of it, vary, and therefore appreciation or rejection.

Our sun is the largest object as far as we are concerned, in terms of our knowledge of its distance, volume, its contents, its emanations. Actually, we are products entirely of whatever the sun ejected, which became our building material. And yet, this very sun is scientifically accepted as a mediocre star in our own galaxy (not to mention some stars in our neighbouring galaxies which might almost occupy the major portion of their galaxies themselves), which is supposed to have a billion stars, far larger and presumably more complex and fascinating than our own, even if hazardous to any form of life.

Watching a football match from the ground, our vision encompasses the running, kicking, players, spectators, noises they make, goal-keepers prone to being lost in their own thoughts; but the same vision alters so completely if you get into a helicopter and hover over the playground. Then you see the village. You see a woman, unaware of the football game, buying vegetables. You see a man smoking hookah and watching over a child crawling towards a well, etc.

From my childhood, altering perspectives of objects and events has been a continually fascinating saga. One verse in Gujarati (I think that the full name of the writer contained Govardhandas and something, but I can be wrong), which, therefore, I cannot forget reads:
Mota Nana Vadhu Motama, To Nana Pann Mota
Vyomdeep Ravi Nabhbindu To Ghar Divda Sa Khota


Large Is Small In Larger, So Then Small Is Also Large (in smaller)
If The Enormous Light From The Sun,
From Which The Glow Of The Firmament Comes,
Is But A Small Dot, Then Why Not Appreciate
The Tiny Lamp At Home

The idea of the simile being that the sun is so large, yet so small in the sky; the wick of the lamp in the home is so small, yet it lights up the house.

So then, what is the difference: eternally shifting, drifting, teasing, evasive perspectives.

For those of us humans who are aware and sensitive to the issue of perspective, the phenomenon is bringing a shift in our perception of ourselves, our lives, and our place in the enormity of schemes. We are suddenly as small as ants, or worse, less than atomic particles; or, most of all, non-existent as far as the larger perspective is concerned. I feel very foolish for taking myself seriously. I feel vain, that I had an idealism and I wanted to improve the world, if not the universe. Have I made any ripple, posting these ruminations onto this website, even in my own house, let alone in my colony, city or elsewhere. Had I not written, the world would not have suffered any kind of affliction or deprivation. So then comes my theory that man's ability to survive in this world is in direct proportion to his ability for self-deceit. By that count, I am deceiving myself, and existing, although maimed by this knowledge. Look what consciousness of perspective does and can do.










Illustration of perspectives from Worlds Within Worlds: A Journey Into the Unknown by Michael Marten, John Chesterman, John May and John Trux. (Each of the first four pictures is enlarged one hundred times the area of the preceding one. The other pictures are in increments of ten.)