Anna’s Blues

Anna by the piano
Stood waiting for the dusk to fade
As her soul swayed in silence..
In silence it prayed

Prayed for the morning sun
to shine and lift her up

©Rameez Kakodker Photography

from the blues at bay

Coz Anna’s blues blued the town
A once painted town, red in love
by Anna in her yesterday

Love once so strong
it even awed them thunderstorms
the winds blew for her
and with her in love

Love once so strong
even love birds were put to shame
Anna danced with the rains
while the rains sang to her

But today she stands at His feet
praying for love once so strong
the love that now stands lost
and she the blue’s host

And Anna stood by the piano
waiting for the dusk to fall
so Morning comes with another
Hope of love stronger than
once love so strong

Mannil Virinja Poove, Nee Sugam Alle?

You've turned 57 this year. A little close to becoming the 'senior citizen'. That never bothered you much, isn't it? You've always been young at heart. I still picture you in the la Rajinikant avatar with your bell-bottom pants, dense and stylized hair. A smile that seeped out to your dimples. Eyes with a lovely gleam. You've always had this charm about you, haven't you? I bet, Amma fell for the smile. 

Appa, Appu and I have always admired your love for Amma. Although, your fights would always begin and end with 'Iruvadu varsaham ore vishayata chollind iru' or 'Uma, please, at least, Poojai nerathla kathade', the two of us knew how deep your love has been for Amma.

We've always loved the way you'd buy her a gift and send it through us. We've always known that you're a die-hard romantic. A romantic who chose to be shy about it. I've read the letters you and Amma exchanged during the courtship period. I never really managed to read a whole letter, but I've read enough to know the romantic in you. I've always loved the way you'd narrate the ponnupaakal incident. It gets better each time. I am glad you chose to spend your life with Amma, in spite of the high-on-acidity Sambhar and Uralakazhangu kari. In spite of Athai and Paati having threatened you with dosham.I'll always remember you as the die-heart romantic who took the heroic stance to stand by his lady love.(Of course, I've exaggerated the whole episode. But, I like to remember it that way.)

I don't know if you remember our waltz to Baharo Phool Barsao. I distinctly remember every bit of it. I was in the fourth standard; had just received my final exam mark-sheet. I had been given an 'A' grade. Ah, my joy knew no bounds! It was a Saturday. I remember the day because you were usually home on Saturdays. You were busy with your usual routine of swaying to Old Hindi Songs. I came home, rung the bell and displayed my report card as if I had bagged a Gold Medal at the Olympics. Baharo Phool Barsao had just begun on the tape recorder. You held my tiny hands and swayed with me to that Suraj's classic number. In my mind, I had clicked a picture of us dancing. A fragment from my memory I always go back to when I am overloaded with joy. Especially on occasions when I want to sway to old hindi songs. Did you know that I've bequeathed that art from you? Oh, yes, I have.

I vividly remember us opening the first bottle of alcohol in the house. I was surprised how Amma wasn't perplexed about it. When Amma let me gulp down an entire glass of that delicious wine, I sat there baffled, looking at the joy in her eyes. Do you remember how Amma and you would ask me to slow down, while I tried to hurriedly gobble up those luxury chocolates. What joy!
Do you remember that one anniversary when little-hippo Appu and I cooked up a half-cooked, wholesome, hearty meal consisting a sandwich of sorts, and some chat. The naïve attempt at setting up a candle-lit ambience; the two of you were embarrassed. Appu and I lifted our shoulders and held it up high after that night.

©Rameez Kakodker Photography

I will always cherish these episodes from the days of our lives. There's a lot more that I want to write you today, Appa. I am unable to write as these tears are messing up the keyboard. Please don't get me wrong when I say tears. These are tears of joy, and sense of contentment. I want to take a walk with you through the lane of soulful memories. Of times you and Amma spent in raising this family. Thank you for bringing us into this world; you virtually showed me the world on your shoulders; maad madiri valandootum I chose to trod the streets sitting on your shoulder. Amma and you have carefully knit this family with the most comforting fabric. Thank you for being a friend, philosopher and a guide in disguise. Thank you for letting us have you as our father.

Happy Birthday, Appa.

Around the Ye in 90 days.

It wasn't an easy task to capture my admiration for the Bongs and Calcutta in words. The only expression that does thorough justice, according to me, is the ubiquitous 'Ye'. Of all the Bengali I've managed to grasp and gobble down, Ye is what I adore the most. Pronounced as 'E-Y-E-A' or 'Y-E-A-H' with a peculiar accent, this all-encompassing term is used and abused as a noun, verb, adjective or just ye. Every language has a Ye, for instance, in hindi it's 'Woh'. In tamil it's 'Adu' and if that doesn't help your case, you could always resort to 'Idu'. 

My first brush with Ye happened while I was trying to figure out the monsoon in Calcutta. Romantic when it rains; moody,confusing and humid otherwise. So many emotions, yet only ye describes it aptly. Once I realized its true potential, I went on a Ye rampage. I bought everything from tomatoes, mishti dhoi and movie tickets to harem pants using ye. I've observed that the Bengalis do not fuss about specifications. You could always mention Ye and you'd have still conveyed the message loud and clear. The ye where my PG is located has a lot of buildings with typical Bengali architecture. I love walking back home as I like ogling at these Ye-s. Thanks to my poor sense of geography, I've had to ask around for directions to my PG. Ye came in handy when I couldn't recollect names of the landmarks.

Some of the popular usages include 'Kothay jachho? Eito ye' ( I am going to ye), ' Ki korcho? Kichuna, ye' ( I am doing ye),  'Janish shedeen ye r sathe dekha holo' ( I met ye the other day), ' oke besh ye lagchhilo aajkey' (he looks very ye today).

This multi-faceted, multi-purpose word connects you to the dynamic city and its people. Just as how the whole of Calcutta is tied together by the Ganges and the Metro Railways. Reading sessions with Naveen Kishore, ferry ride to Belur Math, Shantiniketan drenched in the rains, Masterclasses—with John Donatich, Ronnie Gupta, Jennie Dorny, Manjula Padmanabhan, Aswathy Senan—captivating Sundarbans, tram rides, intoxicating walks through College Street, the Ghats, my tour through Calcutta is made up of ye emotions.

Ye has a kind of comfort that I found in Seagull's artwork-filled classrooms, easygoing Calcuttans, and the unhurried pace of the city. I came to Cal looking for newer horizons and I am contently going back home with ye. 

Simply put, a little bit of exploration teamed up with ye is all it takes to understand this adventurous city. 

In the words of Sunandini Banerjee:
‘It's a kind of universal application, which can describe a person, an emotion, weather. Anything at all can be summed up as Ye. Have you seen my Ye? Have you seen my lost wallet, lost eggplant, my dog . . .  depending on the concept along with some strange hand gestures, ye is indicative of a word that doesn't ring in your mind.’ 

On that note, 

All Hail Ye!

Zen Master's Wisdom - Part 1

So what you got to do is open that dusty which is at the bottom of your heart.
The file of all the good things you want to do in life . . .

The file of all the good things you wanted to do in life put away because you want to do it later, when you're old, and retired and useless. Get something out of that and do it now. It might not make you rich but it will make you happy. Look at it this way, if you get a job only because it pays well you end up spending the money to buy yourself prepaid happiness which lasts not very long. 

So if you do what you really care for and makes you happy, you are sorted for life!

You will always have money to spare!

-  
Vivek

Moon River

Sitting at the window sill,

Counting days spent without you until . . .

Today I watch the moon gazing down upon me,

wondering why I look so blue . . .

He shines his shimmer
hoping I'd gleam at him a little
Not an ounce of mercy I spare

He then splashes at me,
some water from his river

Yet the blues wont go away

I sit gazing at him
only looking at something else,

off sunny times,

It's the day we slept under the moon

clasped in love-filled embrac

The moon tonight
I've lost its sight

©Anugraha Madhavan

for you are not here . . .

to hug me, caress me, gently kiss me

While I feel your warmth, breath and skipping of your heart beat

It's easy to say that I am longing for you

while each second is a penance

You want me to bask in the glory of the moonlight

All alone . . .

Which I do . . .

But I only feel it's chilly windy blue

I know there will come one day
You and I will walk again

down the river side

and you'll embrace my love again

As we walk by the Moon River.

Dark Waters

The science told, ‘We have blood running within,’

But I only feel dark mud flow within.

A mortal existence with nothing of my own,

The skin, the Hide, the tears, the smiles . . . adapted.

Who knows what’s within?

Deceit, self-deceit, ugly light

Or something brightly Utopian

The answers to mortal existence

The universe seemed larger at first,

But the mortal specie constrained its universe

To mere dust and shimmer,

Of boredom from humanity and responsibility.

Where am I?

Dark waters run within, and I, adamant to call it blood

The warmth has frozen, cold finally set in.

Love and affection replaced by justification.

Mockery, we make of ourselves

By aping the shimmer

Falsehood, we live with

By breathing the dust

I thrive on blaming

I thrive on revenge

I thrive on sadism

I await the pinch, given by nails,

Those developed by veins

Carrying ‘blood’

Dark waters run within,

Stale and sewage

Running through narrow pathways

The valves rusted, Brain busted

I love this stench

Progressing with self-sympathy

Generating more dark waters . . .

As long as you are awake . . .

Separated by a million galaxies,
spaces between us are broken down by a Wonderwall.
You're my Wonderwall.

Here I am, 
in a lonesome world, 
filled up with dimensions,
           You keep hopping around,
while I sit here and admire your every move
What is it that you're looking for?

Oh, dreamer! You Wanderer! You Vagabond!
Can't you get some sleep?

My head hurts and heart aches.

You embark on a new journey, each day, each night.
                           What is it that you're looking for?

I am here waiting with my Cuppa . . .
At the restaurant at the end of the Universe

They screen on a Plasma, 
            Your theatrics of dance and your drama
                                              Your adventures

Oh, dreamer! You Wanderer! You Vagabond!
Can't you get some sleep?

Suck it up, Jim!

It's all right to lose your path, Jim. You are required to act crazy, lose your virtues, morale and all of that jazz. You must get lost in the cloud. You must love and be loved. Hurt and get hurt. You must fall in love deep and get hurt. You must succeed at doing something. You must taste absolute failure. You must chase a dream. You must lose sleep over it. You must let at least one of your dreams crash.

You must live alone, feel lonely. You must begin to like your own company. You must laugh hard. You must cry harder. Hug someone. Kiss somebody. Gaze at the moon, stars and auroras. Enjoy the cool summer breeze. Sleep under a moonlit sky with a lover. Make love. Cherish it. Capture a picture of it. Hang it in the wall of fame of your memory.

Learn acceptance. Accept rejections. Learn to hold on to something. Adapt. Prepare yourself to move on. Smoke some weed or hash. Gulp down a peg beautiful of that Irish whiskey. Travel across the globe. Earn well. Spend well. It is okay to be a miser sometimes. Splurge like a pauper. Try being unemployed for sometime. Meditate. Learn to focus on what's in hand. Let yourself get lost in your thoughts sometimes. Learn to be happy. Be happy when you're sad.

You must learn to hope. It helps to hope. Hope that your ducks will fall in a row. Hope that you will get what you want. Hope that you will rank a merit. Hope that she loves you. Hope that your prayers will be answered. Hoping works on most occasions. If it doesn't at first. You could always hope to get a second chance. You mostly get a second chance or shot at everything. Learn to grab on to chance encounters and opportunities. Hope that life will be all right.   

Make new friends. Take up a crash-course in a new city. Find a roommate. Roommates are family at a home away from home. Remember your family. Feel homesick. Call up your mother and tell her how much you love her. Tell you father he's your mentor. Sometimes you may have to witness a dear one die. Mourn as much as you like. Come out of it as soon as you can. Share your sorrows. Don't dwell on it.

Explore this new city. Observe and understand this new family you've adapted to. Your roommates could teach you a lot. Share expenses. Happiness. Sorrows. Roommates can teach you a lot. 

Jim, look up on a hobby class. Go pursue it for a couple of months. Make a schedule. Follow it. Live it. Find a life. Life has always been there. Been quite easy. Just accept it and live it. Love this new hobby of yours. Flaunt it. Sleep with it. Dream about it. Talk about it. 

Get a piercing or two. At least talk about it. Your body is indeed a wonderland. Explore it. Accept it. Tell it that you care about it. Talk to yourself once in a while. You misses you. Socialise with yourself. Fall in love with yourself. Let yourself sulk about the past. Talk yourself out of it as well. 

Read new books. Read a Harper Lee or a Howard Jacob. Audrey Niffenegger has a refreshing style of writing. You could read Jerome K Jerome and sigh at the mention of Montmorency. If you're going through existential crisis read something by Camus or Kierkegaard. Go read Dostoevsky. Watch The Woman With Five Elephants. Then get on to reading Dostoevsky. Read Poe. Read Wodehouse. Read Freud. Read A.Huxley. Read Kerouac. Read Gerald Durrell. Read Kafka. Read Neruda. Read Gibran.  

Watch new television shows. The good ones. The ones with a lot of gore. The ones with slapstick humour. The ones with teenage romance. The ones with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Watch a Monty Python sketch or Fry and Laurie sketch. They are brilliant. All of them are mostly good.

Become insomniac. Learn to value sleep. Sleep well. Eat well. Laugh well. Dance well. Sing to yourself. Sing to the lord. Sing yourself into meditation. Open your eyes to a whole new Being. A whole new Being in a whole new world.

Breathe.

Because, Jim, somewhere you learn to break-free from the chains of fear. Somewhere, you just end up finding out who you truly are.