Showing posts from February, 2011

In Wait Till The Winds Blow...

It just took a while for me to knowThe seed from the flower, the leaf from the treeTime comes and it all has to goFrom rain-drops into the ever-widening sea.
Then the winds came and took you awayIt’s all quiet now, and I’m waiting somehowWaiting somehow for the winds to blow again.
Time and space and eternityCould not keep you close to meJust as I try to hold it tightFizzle away the pearls of mercury
Gone away in search of another sunshineMy shadow it was that grew too coldIn certain bliss you kept me, tillThis deep secret you had to unfold.
Then the winds came and took you awayIt’s all quiet now, and I’m waiting somehowWaiting somehow for the winds to blow again.

Getting Inside A Book, Or Getting The Book Inside Of You

It began with the God inside me. Or was it the God without?
Of little things Bigged and Big things belittled Whispers echoing back as a cry or shout.
The 'surprised puff' : Estha - was he really my brother, Rahel - my name, Ammu - mu mother? It's been twenty-three years and I know I am not a murderer Not of Sophie Mol's, not of Velutha's either.
I remember the boat-rides on the Meenachal The history-house is not just my refuge or sanctuary. I still hear Baby Kochamma calling out "Satan in their eyes." Ayemenem - where I was taught : how to love and despise.
The monsoon breeze sprays the droplets on my face I wake as 'The God of Small Things' drops from my hands I wipe my face off the Delhi monsoon shower Wait! was there a drop of the Meenachal on my tongue?
Nah! But that was where I came from - a couple of hours ago Flipping the page of 'Saving Ammu' for the seventh time I realise I'm a part of the book; and the book, mine.
Never before had I smelled th…

Reconciling August and Agastya

English, August comes to you with the aura of something exotic, mystic, refined and mysterious, as the title attempts to make us anticipate. But it turns out to be just none of these. The title turns out to be as vague and ambiguous as the mind of the man whose different names are what the title constitutes. The novel is a candid presentation of the mind’s battle with ennui and disinterest amid an acute sense of mental and physical dislocation. It is the twenty-four year-old Agastya’s (or English, or August) search for self-definition. It documents his quotidian routine of deathly boredom in which he searches for familiarity and a sense of rooted ness and continuity in his need for sex and marijuana, and his half-hearted attempts at maintaining a diary. His boredom leads him to a state of suspension of body and mind – dislocation from everything around; crumbling of his resolutions: avoiding Vasant’s hazardous meals, but eventually getting used to it; a staunch declaration of abstin…

The Samskara of Being

Samskara according to Hindu karma is the performing of one’s duty of cleansing the soul. In ‘Samskara’, the novel by U.R Ananthamurthy, he gives the epigraph as “A Rite for a Dead Man”. While the novel is about the various profound issues of existential paradoxes and the inherent contradictions that plague the human soul; I would like to dwell on the significance of samskara in the context of Hindu ethics. Sanskara or samskara is derived from the root-word ‘samsk-‘ from which also comes samskrit/Sanskrit. Sanskar in the Indian moral philosophy stands for the ethics of right conduct in the public domain. Such a life would be commandeered by staunch idealism and indomitable will of abidance to the right path in terms of words, deeds and thought. The revered sages of the Indian lore are the precedents that parents list out to their progeny ever since they start acquiring the powers of understanding. Leading a virtuous life is the goal of every being. Yet, it is a quality left much coveted…