the guru the disciple the performer and the fanatics

What a wonderful strange stage world 

We inhabit 

While a war simmered on not very far away

Way closer to home a disciple gave it her all

-- lecdem a term pretty -- meandering khayal 

gayaki -- sufiyana suffusion -- even older forms -- 

Touched by History -- Syncretic -- Not War --

As the guru listened on stage in the plush hall 

Where we found us to be in good secure hands

a little while later the disciple listened

Became a child as the guru sang for the fanatics

of music, be the language of love, be the fans

Of that quality divine, that divinity in residence

if you will, be that human

later on 

as it would come to not too long after

While an uneasy cessation of war unfolded

while the newscasters belligerently shouted

About win death peace while we far away 

became experts on matters defense economic 

history became tiny battlefields of prurient onlookers 

Experts all at once I wanting an escape

landed on another smiling ebullient disciple 

Of music enthrall elsewhen on this speck

A common place of food joy and mirth

Far cry from the elegant halls of music

Yet right there Yet so far for me Yet right there

Reminding what i know not pray you tell me.

                                        

Smiling Disciple

Khayal Gayaki

Water - with ND

  ND:

The ripple fears the wave 

For the wave can engulf it

The wave fears it would one day

Be washed out by the tide

They all fear annihilation

As eventually even the tide

Will meet it's sure end

If only the ripple or the wave 

Or the tide could stop

And look beneath the surface

Would they realise their own depth

And the fear would be far gone 

For there was never a ripple

A wave or even a tide

It was only water all along

———————————————-

The ripple fears the next wave 

For it overwhelms, if only for a moment.

The wave itself fears one day

Being washed over by the tide.

No wonder you say then

That the tide too fears its end

If only the ripple, the wave, the tide

Were to look beneath the surface

Would they realise their own depth

For there was never, my dear reader,

a ripple, neither a wave nor a tide.

They were never apart from the eternal ocean

They were always only water all along

Through and through

Coursing fearlessly along ...

Mind Games - with ND

ND:

Oh my mind, I'm on to your tricks!

I am bemused to watch all of your antics
You're busy reveling in your own fantasies
How endlessly you play out mental movies
You refuse to see the obvious truth
You dismiss it with arguments, clever and smooth
You can create your worst nightmare
Which you blame on others, why do you care?
You seek pleasure and avoid pain
Even though, without pain there is no gain
When you have what you want, you demand more
And when you don't you're unbearably sore
Oh does your drama ever end?
You're your own foe, my friend.

———————————————————-


Oh Mind, I'm on to your tricks!

Bemused, I watch all your antics

Very busy you keep, revel in your fantasies

Endless, and how you make them movies!

Refuse to see the simple simple truth

Dismiss through arguments, clever and smooth!

You fabricate those worst nightmares

Why blame on others? Why do you care?

You seek pleasure, Avoid pain

Don't you know No pain No gain....

When have what you want, you want yet more

Alas... when you don't, unbearably petty and sore

Oh will your drama ever end?

Aren't you your own best foe, my dear friend? :)

Physics departments // Comfort listings

Comfort finds baby in mother's bosom,

a father's slap on the teenager's back,

busy parents in their lair; the day has ended

The artist in his studio, messy or pristine

The poet in her writing desk, wooden or plastic

The athlete in her sweaty gym or ice baths

The archers, the chess player respectively

The IT person near the hum of the server racks,

The community cook, high-end chef in the kitchen

about to be busy in the umpteen videos 

The daily commuters in moments stolen

The public transport drivers, the salaried workers,

the plumbers, fixers somewhere surely 

like Gods hiding in cloudy cushions

on a break from running the universe.

Comfort greets narimus the non-seeker in coffee stains and splotches,

soft chalks dancing on beautiful blackboards,

familiar symbols holding tautological mysteries,

The halls and corridors of physics departments 

visited by brightest of egos, deepest of thinkers,

biggest of intrigues that maybe five persons care about,

humblest of scholars even now,

and the most interesting of all,

the non-trivial clowning of hand-waving monkeys...

--------------------

Comfort finds baby in mother's bosom,

a father's slap on the teenager's back,

busy parents in their lair; the day has ended

The artist in his studio, messy or pristine

The poet in her writing desk, wooden or plastic

The athlete in her sweaty gym or ice baths

The archers, the chess player respectively

The IT person near the hum of the server racks,

The community cook, high-end chef in the kitchen

about to be busy in the umpteen videos 

The daily commuters in moments stolen

The public transport drivers, the salaried workers,

the plumbers, fixers somewhere surely 

like Gods hiding in cloudy cushions

on a break from running the universe.

Comfort greets narimus the non-seeker in coffee stains and splotches,

soft chalks dancing on beautiful blackboards,

familiar symbols holding tautological mysteries,

The halls and corridors of physics departments 

visited by the brightest of egos, the deepest of thinkers,

biggest of intrigues that maybe five persons care about,

and also the humblest of scholars still....

however and the most interesting of all,

the non-trivial clowning, the hand-waving 

of those tool-wielding strategically-scheming monkeys

-- maybe a small group, a medium-big guild, or downright a big corporate --

maniacally obsessive to know more, 

do less, measure better, tweak further,

and/or perhaps right at ease with not knowing....

doing more while keeping a good measure of things...

Being like a fish

I have a problem

I fall in love easily

When the going is good

Almost akin to greed
For what a fellow man
Or woman has to offer

This evening 
At the secluded beach
The fishermen were busy pulling the nets
Their wives threw their lines at us
I got hooked
The push and pull
Went on for a while
At the end they got a bit
Of what they wanted
In return
They gave me enough
Smiles and laughs 
That I did not mind their tricks, their skills
While the fishermen husbands were still at it
With the eternal sea.

----------

The wives above are based on a group of women from Karnataka who were selling trinkets to tourists in Goa. They were expertly using all their skills and tricks, and even had learnt fluent English because of foreign tourists.

Variations on a stanza in a letter

Time is precious we know

A stranger makes his gamble

Attention scarcer we know

Another stranger, will he gamble?

Time is precious I know

A stranger makes his gamble

Attention scarcer you know

Another stranger, will he gamble?

Time is precious we state

A stranger's stanza spare

Attention a scarcer state

Another stranger, will he spare?

Time is precious I state

A stranger's stanza spare

Attention a scarcer state

Another stranger, will he spare?

Time is precious it states

A stranger's verse spare

Attention scarcer among states

Another stranger, will he spare?

Time is precious I state,

Here in this verse spare.

Attention a scarcer state

Stranger, will you spare? 

Smile

A smile across a crowded street

Stranger with a feel for free things

Lightness and the light within

Buddha in stone outside a library

Reminds even stones can bless and smile

May well hide sadness once in a while

(Sort of hide irritation till can't bear) 

He swears by that smile 

Smiling...

Blessings in Disguise

 Four clever kids a toddler follows every footstep

Prank you outside the neighbourhood temple

Laughter all around, good bye bhaiya for half a km

The clichéd leaf or flower falling

In your lap while you stroll somewhere

In the city

A kind word in the sea of anonymous crowd

A bus ride conversation a long time ago

That flowed freely out of nowhere

The vertical rainbow at sunrise

Cooped up in an airplane coach

Right now

Even the jiggling derriere in front

Along the canal the other day

Who asked for all these riches?

Tribute to Rumi's poem

There's somewhere a jewel hidden among dirt and rocks
What does it care for man-made names and definitions
It lies there out in the field beyond right and wrong
While the man-made world churns out inanities in droves

Miracle and Explanation / Via Postal Mail

God came to me
the other day
via postal mail
Of all routes

And yet I did not
Accept the blessing
Looked for an explanation
When a simple miracle
would have done just fine

Still the urge remained
The urge is a blessing too
But then we often forget
Miracle and explanation
Are like familiar family cousins
Why pick favourites


-------

A miracle is not something that has no explanation. Rather it is something that requires no explanation. The soul just happens to be moved by it, mundane or otherwise.

--------

PS: inspired by Pujnan's 2018 bday gift "fiasco"

The People Labeler

There he was
The people labeler
At the waiting hall,
His perfect hunting ground.

There goes the important man,
Who needs to cut the line,
There the fat man
Irritated at everything and everyone,
Nearby the jovial father playing with his children,
The clever -- in fact outright devious --
Advertising people behind the giant TV ads,
The listless officer, heck the average diligent worker over there,
The impatient people scattered around,
The talkative know-it-alls mixed in among them,
Ready to laugh, talk over, not listen, tell jokes,
The full show on...

Like a child
With a virgin plastic wrap,
Bursting away the perfect little bubbles
What was his label,
The proud, skillful
People labeler?



------------------

PS: At Bbsr airport while returning from Bbsr to Mum

Family / What moves the child?

Niece of four years danced away,
                                     Two-year-old Nephew's roar and sway,
End of another day,
The Elders on sofas all around watched,
                                      So did Sister doing the dishes nearby
Under the sole soft kitchen light,
Elsewhere lights've been off,
Party disco lights on, glowed away,
                                      On a Wednesday indoor night,
The Innocence and the Spirit,
                                       What moves the Child?

--------------
Summer '18 Philly Collegeville

For SR

Unbeknownst to thyself,
Thou be smiling

Why be so,
So says me--

Who says too, Be
Your own self, why not!

Internet Emotions

At this Internet instant
Friend 1 tells Friend 2
just like that
out of nowhere
like a popup notification
without a ding
that a month ago
Friend 1 miscarried...

Post an amicable exchange,
Some amount of
jokes and pleasantries
-- the bedrock of
quotidian conversation --,
Them catching up after
More than a few months.

Makes me muse momentarily
Life is such a fleeting blip
of a tragedy.

Momentary Melancholia sigh ...
Is that even a thing !?

At this next Internet instant,
notification panel lights up,
-- Again, and with a ding! --
then a photo of Friend 2's niece,
her missing front tooth
embellishing her open grin :D

Moment to moment
Life reminding itself
Its many possibilities,
recommending sentimentality
and not ubiquitous boredom
at this Internet instant.

Who knows
The poet too might have heard
on some other boring day
the cry of the miscarriager
the shout of the child
Losing its milk teeth
from neighbouring huts
by the flowing river
that's maybe dry by now,
And momentarily paused...

Coping

Have to write now
Because letters sometimes have to be printed on the page.

Not sleepy yet,
Took the day off work,
Finished eating the meals,
Gave some time to personal care,
Talked to the important persons in life,
-- they are busy / asleep now --
Internet's down; could have built a paper plane,
taking guidance from world experts,
Too late to play the flute,
might disturb the neighbours (ah the pastoral life!)

Writing is equally fine,
And it suits me well,
and as said earlier,
Letters may remain air-borne or printed on the page,
But the breath must be a busy breath,
Yet, there is all the time in the world,
there is no hurry.

Missing

Sometimes
I wish
I were not
Quite me

So that
I stop
Picking at
How I am

And
Put down
Where it feels

Yet
Saraswati watches over me
by the river of words

Pensive reflection by a Stream

Young Kids. Stream goes by.
Simple stuff. Aged Man. Same stream.
May it be simple.

For N on Valentine's day

Since man is small,
I will love you
                 in my little, small ways.

Love can be large-hearted
                                    boundless
So too it is around you
When we share together
Those little, small forevers

Human Affairs and the Universe

Which is the background,
What constitutes the foreground ?
Is it the grand scale of far ancient light
From the dying star's supernova
Following the shortest paths
Around the Universe in elegance
Some ending in its eyes, provoking them,
Or the twitchings in our conversations
Powering our twenty-four hour days,
A few delivering shocks to the core,
As opposed to the ecstatic brain,
Most keeping us busy with sanity ?

-----------------

PS : the supernova referred to was Refsdal
http://news.discovery.com/space/astronomy/hubbles-einstein-cross-supernova-strikes-back-151216

Untitled

The small audience looked bored, getting fidgety,
Eyes focused on other things, avoiding each other maybe,
Ears fancied bird-chirping, muted noises a farther,
Feet shifted just so, semblance of silence's sake,
The morning weather in the quadrangle little louder, imminent

During this average celebration of some occasion,
Conviction carried on unembarrassed, caring not much for grace,
Like a lost ant unsteadily carrying a morsel for the colony,
As the oblivious man recited three long didactic poems,
exchanged inspiration for the simple obvious, in harmony with all.