chicu- travel and poetry

being strong

2009-03-02T09:41:00.000+05:30

Loves die. People die.

I am pragmatic, they tell me.
Robbing me of the wish
that it won’t happen to me.

I am strong, they remind me.
Not allowing me to cower
and tremble in his arms.

I am wise, they tell me.
I should not expect them
to calm my worries.

I sit alone in a room;
the solace I allow me
is endless cups of tea.

The Pasta-rollers

2009-01-13T10:32:00.002+05:30

I am sent an ordinary photograph.
It shows
a kitchen in beige and white,
blonde wood countertops.
A row of glass jars, with shiny caps.
In the foreground, a boy and his father
are making pasta. They wear
matching orange sweatshirts
and concentrate on the dough.
There is nothing special about it.
Scenes like this are played every night
in a hundred, a thousand households.
I stare at it all day.

Bharatpur

2008-12-02T09:51:00.002+05:30

In winter, the lake is alive
brimming with life giving water,
dancing to the touch of every wingtip,
resounding to the calls of the flock.
She is shelter, joy, rebirth.

But summer comes and the flock leaves.
She is left alone to struggle
against a hundred demands on her existence.
She shrinks, withdraws into herself
diminishing, stagnant, forgotten.

Does she feel like crying out to the flock to stay?
“Do not go. You are life for me.
Without you I am scared.
Stay with me, help me in my struggles.”
But it does not matter what she feels.

It is not in her nature to stop them,
as it is not in the flock’s nature to stay.
The parting a necessary part of the story.
Dying necessary for rebirth. All this she knows.
And still she dreads the summer.

2008-08-09T16:44:00.001+05:30

Every morning Usha goes about waking this world.
Quietly she walks about, her mood turning the world grey,
making it churn with restlessness.
You see, Arun is so far away still!

She becomes happier as the moments pass.
“He will have woken up now,” she thinks.
“He is stepping out into the courtyard.”
She sees him get into the chariot; gather the reins in his hands.
“He is coming” she gasps, and her blush suffuses the world.

She darts over the earth confusedly, happily.
All of life echoes her heartbeat, “Arun! Arun!”
And he comes! A fleeting glance and then he passes by her
performing his duty as the charioteer of the Sun.

Usha loves Arun. Totally, unabashedly.
He occupies her being, colours her life
If he were not to appear, the world would be darkened
with her despair, plunged into chaos by her confusion.

And Arun? He loves her. Totally, undoubtedly.
If Usha were not to greet her lover one morning
He would feel a pang of regret, miss seeing her stand there.
But those calm and sure hands would not falter at the reins,
And on and on across the skies the horses would thunder.

What I saw:

2008-07-02T08:10:00.000+05:30

Had been out shopping for groceries with my mother. In the old part of Pune. I saw, I saw:

1. At a little streetside restaurant, a woman treating herself to lunch. This is remarkable in itself, but know also that this was an old, old rural woman. She had collected her pension (or her husband’s more likely) from the bank and had come here. I wondered if this was a little break from the family/farm/home routine, or a monthly ritual. Was it a treat, or simply a safe place where she could count out and keep away her money? I hope it is the former. I am captivated, encouraged by this woman turning a necessary trip into town into a little vacation for the self.

2. A friend had once asked me if singing while working is a very Indian thing. I remembered that today when I saw a seller of copper jewellery cleaning his wares. He was rinsing each little bunch of bracelets in lemon juice, and had set up a beat. So before one saw him, one heard the cheerful chamcham-CHAM-chamcham-CHAM he had set up.

3. The anti-encroachment police came by when I was in the market. By the time I had figured out what had happened, the stalls had magically folded in onto themselves and disappeared. All those neatly laid out goods, the tables with their little plastic roofs. Each of those stalls has such a permanent air about it that I had never realised that they are illegal, much less so temporary.

magicians all

2008-06-07T05:07:00.000+05:30

We are all conjurors, hypnotists, masters of illusion.
Watch as a kiss is transformed into
A lifetime together.
Whole worlds are ours for the imagining.
Fill them with warmth and softness and strength
Add the dazzle of conversation and debate and study
Let us have laughter and play for some sparkle
Who needs an audience when we can mesmerise ourselves?

google and poignancy

2008-05-15T23:28:00.004+05:30

Who says urban middle class life lacks drama?
I switch on the laptop and open the browser.
Watch the little icon revolve in tune to
a sustained drumroll.

"The server is taking it's time", I am told.
"Do you wish to continue?" "Listen sweetheart,
You have NO idea of what waiting means."
Yes, I continue.

I think I see a loved one, and sit up straight.
Slump again when I see it is the letter of a
nice gentleman wanting to give me money.
'Mark as spam, please."

Ah well, I will re-read mails sent earlier.
But now the name I am looking for is not
among my Quick Contacts. More resolute than
I can ever be,

Gmail has shunted out my errant lover.

to the Delectable Bastard

2008-05-08T20:52:00.001+05:30

this is not what i want
am more lonely now
i need help here.
are you listening at all?

when we meet

2008-05-04T07:27:00.007+05:30

I want to sit here beside you, my head resting on your shoulder, my palm on your chest.

I want a hundred quick, dry, hot kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my arms.

I want to just quietly look at you, and do nothing at all.

I want to hold your face in my hands and kiss you gently, deeply, forever.

I want us to have urgent sex in a breathless tangle of arms and legs and torsos.

I want to make love to you as though we had all eternity together.

I want you to make love to me as though you were thirsting, too.

I want to open my eyes in the morning and see you smiling in your sleep

I want to hold you so close I cannot tell the difference between your heartbeat and mine.

I want to hold you like a child holds a slice of watermelon, bite into you and eat you.

I want to touch you as if you were a seedling unfolding itself into the sun.

bottomline..

2008-05-02T11:27:00.002+05:30

The absolute least I owe myself is to be wretched with flair. I should be miserably wet and cold in a flooded jungle, lost and tormented in a mountain, or in the depths of despair over implementing participatory watershed management. If nothing else, I should take to poetry.
This waiting for a letter is a commonplace way of being miserable. not worthy of me.

Asking for more

2008-04-20T22:20:00.004+05:30

I am not asking for mercy, I tell myself. I am asking for more.

Maybe I lie. I would like a little mercy every now and then.

Am tired of the waiting and the concocting of excuses.

Maybe I lie.

I choose to wait, or so I choose to tell myself

I would like a little mercy every now and then.

(asking for mercy- Sarah Manguso, here )

words

2008-04-03T11:16:00.004+05:30

waiting. tired. logic. expect. refuse.
memories. want. need. yearn. hunger. satiety.
smile. wink. laugh.
tears.

On anatomy

2008-04-03T08:10:00.002+05:30

I never thought bones could be this fascinating
and then I met your body; began to study it.
I do believe that I could fall in love
with your bones.
You know my fondness for your hands-
how I can spend hours looking
at the sweet domes of your knuckles,
caressing each metacarpal, kissing your palm-
but you were not aware of my infatuation
with your scapulae. Or of how we flirted behind
your back-
they nestling in my palms the way I would
snuggle up to you at night.

evening

2008-02-04T07:32:00.000+05:30

She walks alone, hurrying between the pools of yellow light.

Soon she sees her house; notices the lights in the window.

Quickening her pace, she reaches the door, but then pauses

And tries to insert a key with hands that do not obey.

No need for that. The door is flung open and he stands there.

“Here you are! I let myself in. I hope you don’t mind.

I couldn’t wait to see you. Here, let me have your coat.”

Words whirl around her as she stands disbelieving, confused.

He looks at her and stops. She rests her head against his chest.

Against her cheek, she can feel the rough texture of his shirt,

The soft pillow of his flesh, the rigid bone underneath.

Deeper still, the rhythm of his breath, the beat of his heart.

She closes her eyes, relaxes. She is safe. She is home.

She is home. She lets herself in and switches on the light.

predators

2008-01-22T23:43:00.000+05:30

I see them in the shadows,
Bellies held close to the ground,
They both look ready to pounce.

Gleaming white, clean and cruel,
Like teeth waiting to tear flesh;
I shudder as I pass by.

After a girl is beaten,
The police cruisers only
Serve to protect each other.

(the only poem which is on both my blogs.. watershed of sorts)

The simple pleasures of life.

2007-12-13T14:39:00.001+05:30

Knowing you. Seeing you

Meeting you. Talking to you.

Our thoughts meeting.

You acknowledging this,

‘but you know how it is.’

Yes, my dear. I do.

Sharing coffee,

Sharing laughter,

A few moments.

Almost enough.

Good bye.

statement

2007-12-02T11:38:00.000+05:30

Will resolve conflict;
speak for those without a voice.
But first do no harm.

Make this possible:
A healthy ecosystem,
access to water

Will do this for me:
honour all my commitments;
Stay true to myself.

cognizance

2007-11-27T11:53:00.000+05:30

Integrity is her core, she says,
living the hollow life of a fraud.

Unable to look at herself,
unaware that others see her.

Prides herself on traveling solo
always accompanied by her guards.

Self-love, deceit, cowardice,
fierce demons brandishing arms,
all protecting her from content.

Go away, she turns to tell them,
Sees they are her companions.
Selfish, coward, fraud, they travel on..

A Spatially and Temporally Limited Relationship

2007-08-14T12:17:00.000+05:30

'Till Death do us part' some loudly proclaim. Others go even further.
'We'll never be apart. All eternity we will be together!'
Eternity seems a bore. Give me today, I will not ask for more.

Some lovers woo and fight; even kiss and make up across land masses.
It does not seem right, to thus disregard oceans and mountain passes.
Couriers grow fat while lovers waste away. I cannot do all that!

I am here now. Let us not worry about all eternity.
Be wholly mine now; it is quite possible to taste infinity
in a spatially and temporally confined relationship.

one-night stand

2007-08-04T17:25:00.000+05:30

I used you. You used me.
We both fulfilled a need.

One thing I remember.

After, I moved away.
Looking for space to breathe.

You reached out though asleep,
pulled me close and kissed me.

the women of Khuldabad

2007-07-02T12:25:00.000+05:30

Though shrouded in black,
the seductress still triumphs
flaunting jewelled feet.

waterfall

2007-06-28T10:07:00.000+05:30

Little drops fly high
Only to rejoin the pool
A moment’s freedom

windy night

2007-06-20T14:42:00.001+05:30

Riding home with Mustaq on a windy night- before the tourism meet.

Threatened by the wind
Poems now rise in my mind
No thought of dying

Lightning flashes bright
My hair wants to kiss the sky
I feel free tonight

On and on we go
The road stretches endlessly
Trees bow before us

The world whirls around
The heavens roar, skies flash
Tandav by the wind

Train Journey II

2007-05-28T09:02:00.000+05:30

Woman with backpack arrives at the station.
The indicators flash names of towns far off,
which call out to her.

Buys a ritual coffee on the platform.
She watches hawkers sell books, tissues, bhel, fruits,
and yes, chocolate.

The smell of chlorine mingled with that of food
Together form essence of railway station-
the smell of travel.

The announcements go on, try to catch the words
The train whistle is condensed wanderlust.
Are the trains on time?

Finally the platform vibrates; her soul thrums.
Happiness is the race to board one’s carriage,
She’s going away.

Companionship

2007-05-26T16:52:00.000+05:30

I sit outside writing by moonlight and smile,
delighting in the moon’s embrace
She caresses my body with silver
How lucky to find such a friend tonight!

I look up, grateful for her attention
She kisses my eyes, lips part in welcome.
Moves downwards to caress my neck, arms, breasts
My toes curling in anticipation.

But now, the moon is a gentle lover
Stays close, is a silent companion.
Was happiness born in this moment?
Or is this a warmth I remember?

Someone stirs. I must end this, or try to
All that’s left is a question in my mind.
Dear moon, while you were here with me,
Somewhere, were you making love to him, too?

on writing

2007-05-26T16:51:00.000+05:30

Emotions trapped inside
Clamour to get out

Knock on the walls
Spill out in a red tide

Only to fade and die
Suppressed by a lack

Of the tools to create
Or the will to try

Finally wait no longer
In fury, seize the

Shell they inhabit
Drag hand across paper

sorry

2007-05-26T16:30:00.000+05:30

It has been a long time since I left
Since then, I have thought of you as my past.
You, however, continue to reach out
Undeterred by the walls I have put up.
Do I like, or resent your trying?
This faith that there is, and can be a us?
An instance of your innocence
That conforms to the image in my mind.
A boy saying his prayers before bed
Eyes shut tight, face tense with concentration.
Is this the same man I am grateful to?
You smiled at me curled up against your chest,
Looked at me with desire in your gaze.
Taught all my life that nothing is my due,
What I feel the most is gratitude.
Thank you, thank you for making love to me.
I woke that night, and all because of you
I am indebted to you, but oh,
I am not in love. I do not love you.

three loves

2007-05-26T16:27:00.000+05:30

3. Your kisses rain down
My mouth is still parched
Outside, normality waits.

2. A cold wet road
You and I going home
This car is so wide.

1. This world of the living
Others know you
Why not I?

Predator

2007-05-26T16:26:00.000+05:30

The scavenger waits her turn,
Lets all others leave the feast.
Stays outside peering at the kill
Bloody meat, eaten with pleasure
Not for her, not for her.

She shuffles towards the remnants,
A scrap of sinew, cracked bone.
Eaten in fear and guilt
Full maw, sated hunger
Not for her, not for her.

The thrill of the chase,
The panic of the flight.
The terror of the prey
The joy of the hunter
Not for her, not for her.

One day she takes to flight,
Spies a runt, swoops down.
Bypasses bigger game
Strong prey’s a fighter
Not for her, not for her.

Finally the prey’s down,
Red blood, warm flesh.
But in her mind’s eye,
Terrified glance, torn fur.
Not for her! Not for her!

Days pass, hunger returns.
The wretchedness of a scavenger,
The ruthlessness of a predator.
Not for her. Not for her.
More an outcast than ever.

stranger

2007-05-26T16:23:00.000+05:30

All stories, of course, have one of only two plots. A story is either about waiting, or about the stranger who rides into town. This story is about, well, stories.
Once, there was a woman who lived in a town and did not know that she was waiting for anything. Until the day when that which she was definitely not waiting for appeared on her doorstep. She did not acknowledge him, of course; and neither did he seem to notice her.
And so things might have continued. But one day there was a crisis to meet which these two had to combine all their energies and passions and work together. This crisis took a year to resolve. In this time, something odd happened. These two began to notice each other. But each of them had lives beyond this crisis, and the stranger had promises to keep. This they both knew from the start, but like children, they felt that tomorrow was so very far away!
But tomorrow always comes. And one day, the stranger saddled his horse and sorrowfully, but resolutely rode away. She was left waving at a cloud of dust.
'I do not like this story", she decided, spitting the sand from her mouth. "I will now schedule love into my itinerary and ride off into the sunset when I decide. I will be the stranger who rides into town."
And so our woman set off on a journey. She crossed forests and rivers, and traveled through lands she had never dreamed existed. And in the exhilaration of her travels, she quite forgot her quest- if indeed she ever had one.
Until one day, after reaching the top of a mountain, she reined in her steed. And there he was. The man who had been waiting for her to ride into town.
They could not help noticing each other and laughed and sang long into the night before parting, far too decorously. But somehow, the next day, he had decided to accompany their little group for the day. The narrowness of the way caused them to ride close together, and if they sat with their hands clasped, surely it was only because of the cold? Curse the fates for bringing two shy souls together! For this is all these two did. At sundown, they parted. They hugged, and she got onto her toes, but somehow could not manage the last few inches to his mouth.
Or perhaps, it wasn't just shyness that kept her there. Maybe in this shy, gentle youth, she saw herself as she stood once, watching her heart ride away. This wasn't love, after all. Not yet, not ever. So it is that she rode away and refused to look back.
The story should end here. But it doesn't. Because you see, they met again, the very next day. And this time they clung to one another with all the passion of people who know that stories inevitably end. And so does this one.
This time, she was fuming as she leapt onto her horse. "I do not like this story either," she thought," No story should end with one of the characters choking on a cloud of dust. The world needs another story".
Thinking this, she stopped at a small wayside shelter. She pulled out a few sheets of paper and a stub of pencil and settled against a tree. And then she began to write, "All stories, of course,"

Random poems.

2007-05-04T10:57:00.000+05:30

'Dream Deferred'
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry uplike a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

-- Langston Hughes