Sunday, 5 September 2021

What God?

 Breathing through 

sighing in boughs , 

Turning sides , creaking trunks ,

wet , dark ,

 dank 

slippery , 

silvery,

mucus moss green 

, mean

giant 

robust 

what makes you stand 

 a primeval wand

gnarled with magic 

year 

after glorious year 

what makes you brood 

in silence profound 

with infinite patience 

you let nests , pestilence 

run berserk 

all over 

shadow with your arms 

the young ones grow

in shade bow 

to you Majesty 

Tall , unfaltering 

unspeaking 

when was the last time 

you threw a tantrum 

and blew nests , withered leaves 

bark bits and un feathered 

hatchlings ,into rain beaten wind ?

Having swallowed 

thunderous turmoil

of the brazen skies 

having heard millions of 

angst filled bird cries 

having weathered 

man's glut and pride 

the hack of the saw 

the cut of the swing 

the axe- hammer thud 

what are you ? 

Some God ? 

The other day 

a new bride , human , frail 

came to you , incense and wail 

lit a lamp , wiped her tears 

you embraced her fears 

sheltered her fragile flame 

and sent her home with a name 

on her lips of you 

what are you? 

Some messiah ?

Humbug , it is easy 

to dismiss , crazy 

But oh !! 

Your leaves were in a riot 

the birds had such a fright 

Not you , never took flight 

stoic , stood upright 

eventually the wind tired 

the  storm petered 

did bow 

to triumphant you 

Who are you ? 

What God? 


Forest

 The defiance of stark yellow 

crocuses ;drops of sun captured , glow

sudden flight , evolve 

into a cabbage butterfly ,dissolve 

on the green grass 

tired, rain lashed

grey sky , steeling 

for more rain , stealing 

thunder , sighing 

in quiet breaths , singing 

with a disquiet lapwing 

discordant on a wet morning 


Tree roots , wet gnarled 

fingers of yore, eons old ,

start slithering 

women shrieking 

Oh snake , snake writhing 

Equally shocked being 

seeking refuge 

in subterfuge


Green leafy twigs 

swaying sprigs 

suddenly fly , hover 

dragonfly , grasshopper 

you stole the colour 

of your parents' homes 

greens , grays and browns 

settle down , disappear 

you merge , others fear 

nature's witchcraft  alchemy 

best felt not seen , blimey 

you had me fooled there 

for a second , dear. 

 

Tuesday, 23 March 2021

I want

It was a crisp morning . Last night's howling winds had not entirely died down , so occasionally , small eddies  caught her unawares , and whipped Dolly's long hair around . Some strands got caught in her mouth and came away , saliva streaked . 

Freeing some gooey strands from her cheek's surface , I found the opportunity to continue with my homily " See this is why you should let me tie your hair, and keep your mouth closed ." 

This habit of mine drove her father nuts . "Oh shut up , for heaven's sake ! " He would bellow from the driver's seat . "Let the child be ". 

Dolly was adamant . No combing of hair , and no shutting of mouth . 

It was cold . I shivered . Sun had begun peeking from behind banks of spent clouds . But the wind didn't let up. There was warm toast and eggs in my belly , and I could still taste coffee in my mouth . Dolly too had her share of toast . But she was still hungry . "How can you say such a thing ?" Kami ,her sister , would ask . Her doubts piercing the dusty wool of "motherhood " I always tired to pull over her eyes .I know because I can hear the faint grumbling in her tummy . I know because she hasn't had her fill at the table . I know because I am her mother . " Humph !" I can see her sister marching away .

"You should let her go hungry ." Dolly's father would say . "Only then will she appreciate the value of food." Sage advise . Everyone nodded their collective heads , including my elder one , yolk dripping from his mouth , as he chomped on his fifth egg. Easier said than done . They have not been mothers . A mother fighting against the whole world trying to bracket your child into "retard" and "goner" slots . I felt sudden stinging of tears . Hot and burning . "You should be tough. Only tough mothers can raise kids like yours . You are too weak . Emotional. Gullible." Harsh words spoken long ago , swirled with the cold wind . I let my tears flow . Stood at the roadside and blew my nose . 

Dolly stood too. Grabbing my hand with stubby fingers , she gently jerked my hand . That was her way of telling me "everything is gonna be alright ." I looked down at her . Spittle flew from her open mouth , as she looked up in consternation . The wind blew the spittle into streaks on her cheeks . I dabbed at her cheeks with my tear stained hanky , she gave an open mouthed smile . People walked past , without even noticing us . I suddenly swooped her into my arms and took her into my lap . She loved it and cackled loudly . 

Some people turned back , from their fast lives , cushioned existences , unseeing eyes and unfeeling hearts . Looked at me , and Dolly , gave quizzical, judging looks . But we continued laughing . Me and my baby . Both misfits , imperfects .


We crossed an eatery . It was morning . Hot samosas were being fried in a wok full of iffy oil . Suddenly Dolly stopped . She too had smelt fragrant samosas . 

"I want " She said , pointing towards the glass enclosed rack full of the savoury goodies. 

"You want samosa ?" I spoke unnecessarily.

Dolly nodded , taking my three middle fingers and trying to braid them with both her hands , That was her  way of saying "Please".  She was staring at the halwai and her spittle ran free . The halwai smiled at her , she smiled back . I had no choice . These were the first words she had spoken since morning . It had to be celebrated . 

As I took the greasy paper plate back to her , She had found a worn out concrete step , entrance to someone's house . She was swinging her legs , another sign of joy and anticipation . 

So we sat there , in the dusty shade of someone's home , eating forbidden food . I can hear my sister say " You bought her what ??" Wiping her greasy fingers off on her saliva streaked pink frock , my baby says , hesitantly , "I want . One more."


Monday, 1 February 2021

How not to get "Soleiman-ised"

 Moni Mohsin , the amazing author of that delightful book " The Social Butterfly " describes how the narrator , got fleeced by an AC technician by the name of Soleiman , who just switched on an Air conditioner , claiming to have repaired it , and how the narrator , in her blind ignorance of all things technical , believing that an out of order AC had been fixed , paid him handsomely . 

This story has gone down in the annals of our anecdotal history , not because the narrator was stupid , but because it finds resonance in so many of our own day to day dealings of similar nature , with people , mostly of the male gender , allegedly bestowed with "higher technical know how ." It is generally assumed , not unaided by women who rise to these stereotypes , that we , females , have no knowledge / inkling / desire to learn/ IQ to fathom how machines and other "more technical things" work .


The story begins on a wintry morning . Mildly foggy , sun bursting out , and loads of optimism in the air .  

On my way back home from my kids' school , the car wobbled , listing more to the left ( Remember Prof.Calculus of Tintin ) . 

Quickly jumping to the worst possible diagnosis , I assumed that I have a puncture , and that the tyres being radial , it is not visible in a standing car . Promptly I called up a neighbouring tyre puncture repairman , whom we shall call by his initial K . Now that I had already informed him of puncture , he swung into action and said that he will drop by shortly . 

It is important to note here that a visit for a puncture repair to his modest , hole-in-the-wall shop , and a visit by K to your residence for repairs , were two different propositions . The difference in charges could be almost 400/- rupees. 

That explains the eagerness to come over . 

Now , that I had glimpsed the red flag , I decided to go to the parking lot and take a closer look myself . They tyre didn't look flat . I asked the opinion of my neighbour , a retired colonel , and an avid driver ( and buyer )of cars. He took one look , circumambulated the car , while humming to himself , punched the tyres , closed his eyes and whispered something . Then loudly proclaimed it to be a case of "less air ". And that I should proceed to K's shop post haste . In fact , try hard to beat him . 

Thanking my stars for living next door to car whisperers , I quickly took my ailing vehicle to K's shop . At the shop sat a surly looking son , who informed me that K had gone to fix someone's puncture at home . I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was to my home that his progenitor had headed to . 

After a short wait , K arrived on his motorcycle , looking mildly miffed .

Taking a look at the tyres , he quickly proceeded to drag a jack out . I stopped him and explained my present , changed and enlightened thoughts . His eyes widened . 

He wanted to know "which Colonel ?" had imparted this wisdom to me, the hitherto gullible female . With a look of total dejection about him , he checked and filled air in my tyres and accepted his meagre 20/- bucks with shoulders stooping with resignation .

I had narrowly escaped being Soleiman-ised. 


There are  several other stories which can be chronicled under the head of " near Soleimanisation . Like the time I got a mere 60/- (instead of 460/-)back from the shopkeeper who suddenly became very busy on the phone . He later clarified he thought I gave him a 100/- rupee note  , instead of 500/- rupee note. Not to mention , his regret filled apologies that followed me like flies , outside the shop too . 



Wednesday, 13 January 2021

Come Here

It was a harsh winter . That year it was particularly harsh . It rained almost every other day . Dry firewood was hard to come by . Mai used to stack ours by the door . She had a meticulous method . Large logs at the bottom , Thin twigs at the top , flanked by heavier branches for all – day cooking . Mai used to guard it jealously . To the novice , the heap seemed a hotch potch of firewood . But Mai knew exactly how many were there . 

  1. How else do you explain the inexplicable wars she waged against aberrant neighbours , winning every time , with the culprit restocking her pile , under her supervision . 

    Then there was the perpetually drying clothes . Babies clothes were pilfered or worse , burnt as kindling . Woollen leggings were favoured as they burnt easily , like dry paper or hay . In those scarce times , woollens were hard to come by and Mai had kept a strict lookout for them as she sat rolling chapatis or boiling tea by the wood-fire. 

    Once she saw the neighbour’s son throw in a black coloured woollen scarf , and got up mid -roti. That was not a good sign . She grabbed a stick from her pile , walked quietly to the neighbour’s fire , fished the smouldering scarf out , beat out the wisps of flames against the cold hard floor , looked at the culprit in the eye , and said “Come Here.”


    The poor waif had no choice but to follow . We all followed them with our eyes , rooted to our respective warm spots , with fear and winter. Only didi moved silently , saving the roti on the fire from being charred . Even her eyes were glued to the spectacle . We braced for another war or at least few smart slaps .


    Contrary to all expectations , She pulled out some dry newspapers from beneath our bedding and gave it to him . As the boy meekly made his way to his bonfire , she also handed him over the stick she had used . A thick one .


    When she resumed her roti making job , She was quiet for a moment , and staring at the orange yellow heat , just said " What ? Kids shouldn't be beaten , they need to be taught ." 


    After a while , when rolling out the next one , she dusted the flour off her hands , straightened her scarf and said "He just wanted some kindling."


Sunday, 3 January 2021

Morbid poetry (Part one ) :)

 tick tock tick tock 

relentlessly spoke 

the old clock 

" Not to mock 


Not to block 

your job at hand 

your handiwork 

I just remind 


That it is slipping 

the sand trickling 

the hours ringing 

sun's setting 


Hurry 

scurry 

flurry 

worry 


Your eyes a-blurry 

Your looks a-bleary 

Oh dear dearie 

whom did you bury 


Tonight 

sun light 

tomorrow night 

your turn , right ? 




The tales of square tails and round tails

 ” I think it is time we got rid of them . Finally . This is our chance . ” My friend , V ,was breathless with excitement and rage and a certain indefinable animalistic urge . Maybe it was just violence . But it was infectious , loud and overpowering . Like forest fire . All alarm bells ringing . I felt like running . Away from the fire . Save myself first . Shouldn’t be sucked into this fire . Shouldn’t . 

“What are you talking about ?” I asked . Trying to appear calm . The person on the stage was bellowing some filthy phrases . There was vile wickedness and breathlessness in the air . Like powdered explosive accidentally thrown into the air . Acrid . Full of foreboding . 

“Can’t you see ? ” V was beside himself . He seemed to be a different person now . Not the gentle soul I had always known . Almost as if he had sprouted horns. It was the worst decision . To have agreed to come to this gathering . 

Now I was stuck .

 Suddenly the calming aroma of freshly fried samosas filled the air . Phew !! S walked towards us . His arms full of the savoury goodies , oil slick lips , hissing slightly as he bit into the spicy goodness .
“Leave you guys for a minute and you start an argument . ” He said , comfortably plonking himself on the grass .
“You know this is not the perfect place to…” I began and was immediately silenced by a raised greasy finger .
“Someone might have pissed into this grass few moments ago…” Began my outraged friend , but one bite out of the hissing , steaming samosa and his demeanour changed . “Good stuff dude , where did you …?’ He too was silenced by a raised finger . The crowd was clapping enthusiastically . We weren’t . Our hands were occupied with food . Brains were awash with carb-laden -hyperglycemic fogginess. 

“By the way , have you heard the tale of squaretails ?” S began, amicably  . Most of the people had started shuffling out of the grounds . It was getting dark and common sense told people to reach back home before the fog hit. Some raised slogans . One was going around starting a signature campaign of some sorts . Three of us polished off the delicious samosas . 

“Now we need to drink something . This is the trouble with samosas . ” I spoke in between hisses . My mouth was on fire . S , the samosa buyer, got up and crumpled the oily paper bag , now empty . Tossing it into a dustbin , he said “Come on now , I know a place where we can get hot tea .”
“Where ?” Lazily intoned my erstwhile rebellious friend,V , reclining on the grass , hiccuping .

“Your home ? ”
“What ?”

"Yeah . You heard me right . " 
"But ..." 
"You have milk at home ? " 
"Yeah . But ..." V raced to keep up with us , on the road . Dry grass sticking out of his hair . 
" Tea leaves , sugar , water , sauce pan , cups ."
" Listen dude ! You can't just march in like that inside my home for tea . My Mom will kill me ." 
"Better she than some bigot . You were marching the Hitler way bro , a few minutes pre- samosa time . " S sniggered , rightfully . He had heard all our conversation . How could he ? The samosa stand was quite far off . 

"And that also cured you of your hiccups . Thank me later ." S grinned , a coriander leaf green stuck in the incisors . I just loved this guy and how he defused the terrible situation . 

"Saale !" (scoundrel ) , both pounced on each other good naturedly . I stood at a distance . This is the trouble with boys . One moment they are cheerful , good natured and sensible humans , next moment , they become neanderthals . 

"A is judging us . " One of them sniffed, breathlessly, out of the entangled mass of arms and legs . 

"You both are already judged ." I sniffed and walked away , arms crossed , nose in the air and promptly ran into an obese , good natured lady staring down at us trio , with mild trepidation and amusement .




Minutes later , we were seated in V's sitting room , with his Mom offering us the best ginger tea in the world . She was used to  boys rough housing all the time , having raised an army of them . V had two older brothers and numerous male cousins , who kept walking in and out of his home .

In between sips , S told us the story of squaretails . 

"In a forest , there were three kinds of birds , the forkedtails , the roundtails and the square tails . 
There was peace for many years and every year they used to elect one amongst them as a leader . It could be anyone . Either of the three . 

One night , a terrible storm hit the forest . Nests were destroyed , hatchlings fell out of the tree . Eggs got smashed , branches broke . Terrible mayhem . 

Next morning , a roundtail couple who lost their nests , like countless others , were sitting at the site of their damaged nest and wondering what to do. Their nest was broken , the pieces strewn all around . Depressed and woebegone , they stared out in despair and saw a squaretail fix their broken nest too . 


The squaretails worked in tandem . The female swept up all the broken pieces with her tail , the male picked it up in his tail , like a shovel and slapped it in place . Working jointly , they had fixed their nest before long , and a cosy little tendril of smoke emerged from the tiny chimney stack , as the female squaretail started a cooking fire .


Slackjawed with amazement , the roundtails watched and wondered. Slowly , in the bitter aftermath of the storm , the admiration was tarnished with envy . Whispered from tree to tree , branch to branch , the glow of happiness turned into a raging fire of hatred . 

The squaretails are few . Shouldn't be difficult to get rid of them . Said one of the goonda roundtail. If they are so efficient , let them leave this forest to us , roundtails . Some raised slogans , others followed . Hatred filled posters appeared on the tree trunks . 

Higher up , in their perch , the forktails watched warily . They didn't like it at all , but they decided it was between roundtails and the squaretails . We have no truck with either of them . 

And so , one fine day , the leader , who happened to be a roundtail , read out the decree , banishing the squaretails from the forest forever. 

There was some protest , some squealing , some rebellion . But it was expected . And it was quashed . Effectively . Some square tails lost their lives , some hatchlings too . Lot of nests were destroyed or occupied by the invaders and fearing for their lives , the squaretails fled . Some continued to live on the edge of the forest , in an endangered zone , where they had to contend with slingshots , gunshots and photographers coming in from the human villages surrounding the forest . Most of them went to unseen , unheard of places , where they retrained themselves , to survive amidst new predators and amongst alien trees . 

Life went on . But now , the forktails were wary and kept out of the way of roundtails , having seen what they can do to birds who are not of the same feather as them . In fact they gathered around each other , huddling for solace and comfort among each other . 

The forest was divided into colonies . Larger roundtail colonies , smaller , forktail colonies , higher up in the eucalyptuses . They had little interaction with each other .

Several years passed by . One year , a terrible drought filled summer hit the forest . At the peak of the heat filled month , a spark from somewhere lit up the giant eucalyptus trees like giant flaming torches . It was a terrible forest fire , it burned up everything that lived there . The animals on ground , the birds in the tree. It was an inferno like no other . 

Some roundtails and a few fork tails survived , they flew southward , which was away from the fire and flames , ashes and death . They flew and flew , some just dropped dead out of sheer exhaustion and were swallowed into the flames . For the forest was huge and it was difficult to find an edge to it .

Finally , tired , hungry and singed , the birds found the edge of the forest . Finding a tree , still green and alive , they plopped on the branches and fell into a deep and troubled sleep . 

They were roused to the sounds of fluttering wings and that they were being warily watched. No one seemed to be in plain sight . There was verdant greenery around , abundance of fruits in trees , nestable branches , a stream gurgled closeby , yesterday seemed like a bad and distant nightmare. 

As they took a dip in the sparkling waters to quench their thirst and rid themselves of soot and ash , they heard an ominous fluttering  . A group of young squaretails perched close by , watching them .

"Well , well , well. See who's here ? " 
"It is our good old neighbours , the round tails ." A second , more scary looking bird , ruffled its feathers and spat out , with venom accentuating each word.

"Ah well." Began a middle aged roundtail , who was interrupted by and impatient young gent " What place is this ?" 

" Well , brother".. drawled the scary one . " It is called " Going back to square one ." This was met with a cackle of laughter that echoed endlessly through the now silent and forbidding forest. 




With this peculiar ending , S sat back and drained his cups of last dregs of ginger tea , now gone cold . He stared into the bottom of the cup. V's mom , who carefully and silently sat with us to hear the tale , got up , gathered the tea things , and marched off , declaring as she departed " I'll get some more tea " 

She knew the tale was not over . 

"What happened to the roundtails ?" V asked the obvious . 
"I don't know . You tell me . " Shrugged S , lifting his shoeless legs off the floor and stretching on the sofa , as if it was his own home . "This is , as they say , your party ."
"Stop sounding so "Dumbledoreish." 

"I am not . You tell me what should happen , and that will happen . It is fiction , anything is possible ." 

"Truth is stranger than fiction . " I sagely announced and the guys laughed . That at least broke the tension in the air . 


Finally , we all came to different conclusions . V thought roundtails should be punished and meted out the same treatment and driven off from the new forest and forced to look for newer pastures . S thought that after few skirmishes , all will be well and they'll learn how to live amicably . I thought that no skirmish was required . They all had a round table meeting of sorts , laid down some rules and lived together in calmness , if not happiness . V's mom thought all lived happily together . 

"Utopia " sniffed V as I got up and left for home .