Wednesday, 11 April 2018

எங்கு மறைந்திருக்கிறாயோ?




ஆகாய வீதியிலோ
பால்வெளியின் கர்பத்திலோ
முகில் தாயின் மடியிலோ
எங்கு மறைந்திருக்கிறாயோ? ஏனோ?

என்னில் என்ன கண்டாயோ
நடந்தாய் என்னுடன் மைல்களோ
அல்லது சின்ன சின்ன அடிகளோ
முழுகினேன் சிந்தனையில் நானோ.

பிரிந்தாய் என்னை விட்டு நொடியில்
தனியாய் நின்றேன் இவ்வுலகினில்
காணாது கண்களில் பாதைகள்
நீ சேர்ந்தபின் நட்சத்திரங்களில்

வாழ்வின் மார்க்கம் காணாது கண்களில்
நம்பிக்கை தளர்கிறது பக்தியில்
பார்வை நிற்காது வேங்கடாசலபதியில்
குருடன்போல் தடுமாறுகிறேன் பாதையில்.

பேதமில்லை வெயிலோ வெண்ணிலாவோ
எரிந்துகொண்டிருக்கிறது தீ நெஞ்சினில்
நொடி நேரம் நிம்மதி இல்லை ஆத்மாவில்
இதுபோல் இனி எத்தனை நாட்களோ, ஆண்டுகளோ?

பிழைக்கவும் இயலாது இறக்கவும் இயலாது, பிழைப்பது எவ்வாறு?
ஒரு புல் மலைபோல் தோன்றுகிறது, ஒரு நொடி யுகம் போல்.

தேடுகிறேன் முகில் தாயின் மடியிலே
தேடுகிறேன் பால்வெளியின் கர்பத்திலே
காத்திருக்கிறேன் ஆகாய வீதியிலே
எங்கு மறைந்திருக்கிறாயோ? ஏனோ?

***

Monday, 9 April 2018

ఎక్కడ దాక్కున్నావో?



ఆకాశ వీధిలో
పాలపుంత గర్భంలో
మబ్బు తల్లి వడిలో
ఎక్కడ దాక్కున్నావో, ఏలో?

ఏమి చూసావు నాలో
నడిచావు నాతో కోసులో
లేక చిన్ని చిన్ని అడుగులో
మధన పడ్డాను నాలో.

విడిచావు నన్ను క్షణంలో
ఒంటరినయ్యాను భువిలో
కనపడవు దారులో తెన్నులో
నీవు కలిసిపోయాక తారలలో.

బ్రతుకు మార్గం కానదు కళ్ళలో
నమ్మకం సడలుతున్నది భక్తిలో
చూపు ఆనదు ఏడుకొండలవాడిలో
గ్రుడ్డిగా తడబడుతున్నాను బాటలో

అంతా ఒక్కటే ఎండో వెన్నెలో
మండుతున్నది అగ్ని గుండెలో
క్షణం శాంతి లేదు ఆత్మలో
ఇలా ఇంకెన్నాళ్లో, ఎన్నేళ్లో?

బ్రతుకలేను మరణించలేను, బ్రతకాలి కానీ ఎలా?
గడ్డిపోచ పర్వతమైంది, క్షణం యుగమైంది.

వెతుకుతున్నాను మబ్బు తల్లి వడిలో
అన్వేషిస్తున్నాను పాలపుంత గర్భంలో
నిరీక్షిస్తున్నాను ఆకాశ వీధిలో
ఎక్కడ దాక్కున్నావో, ఏలో?


***

Sunday, 8 April 2018

MY JOURNEY INTO THE WORLD OF WRITING – XIII


From time immemorial, the number 13 has been regarded an unlucky, inauspicious, and ominous one. The serial number of my current blog post is 13, too. The topic/genre of the story in the chronology is troubled, too; it is about husband-wife marital discord with serious consequences.

Why did I take it up?

Well, why not?

~~~

Thus wrote the fiery poet from Andhra, Sri Sri (Srirangam Srinivasa Rao, popularly known as Sri Sri).


కుక్కపిల్ల (a puppy)
అగ్గిపుల్ల (a matchstick)
సబ్బుబిళ్ళ (a soap cake)
హీనంగా చూడకుదేనిని (do not look down upon any)
కవితమయమేనోయ్ అన్ని (all are pregnant with poetry)
కాదేదీ కవితకనర్హం (none is unworthy of poetry)









Truly, a revelation.

***

Having established a reason, however flimsy it might be, for taking up the topic let us get on with our journey.

Like almost everyone, I have been witness to marital incompatibility and the consequential discord among couples; this is irrespective of whether it is a ‘love’ marriage or an ‘arranged’ marriage. This affected me from early childhood. Did it help me in any way? No, it did not help in entirely avoiding them in they-lived-happily-ever-after way, but certainly in understanding their hows and whys. This helped me in making quick amends.

Out there, there are thousands of couples suffering from this malady, called “incompatibility”. Is it the fault of the individuals involved? I would not judge it as “fault”. When two dissimilar individuals, born and brought up in dissimilar cultures, living in dissimilar environments are thrown together into the “an institution” called marriage, there are bound to be dissimilarities in their likes and dislikes, practices and predilections, tastes and preferences, even familial loyalties. It is unfortunate that these take the ugly form of clashes, and suppression of the female ego (always).

This was the background of my story, “Reminiscences”, wherein the two main characters, Prashant and Alka are happily married initially, the incompatibilities notwithstanding. However, the dissimilarities give rise to incompatibility, which end in an irretrievably ugly situation.

Wisdom dawns on a repentant chauvinistic Prashant, who tries to make amends. Does he have hope? Or, is he too late?

***

By this juncture in my journey, I was able to take a contrarian view at the status quo of the world, which was heavily loaded against women (believe me, it still is). The last sentence of the story tells it all – the helplessness, the ills of male chauvinism, the lateness of realisation – and leaves a question staring at the reader, “Couldn’t he do it earlier?”

I followed a style of narration different from my general one in that most of the story is in the form of thoughts of the central character (the author speaking through the character) while the husband reminisces his past and realises his faults slowly and inexorably.

I have always held that we must mend the fences while there is time. Otherwise, we will only be left with reminiscences – guilt-ridden reminiscences.

***



Friday, 6 April 2018

I DON’T WANT TO LOSE FAITH




You gave me the birth

You gave me the mirth
You gave me no dearth
Of cheer on this earth.

Family did tug me along,
To everyone I did belong,
Enjoyed familial ties strong,
To me, life was on song.

Until…

You took away my father
But left me a caring mother
You took away my brother
But left me woes none other.

Then lightning cruel struck
My mother it did pluck
Dazed I was, in life’s muck
Unaware of riches in my luck.

In You, I lost implicit faith
Compensated losses thou saith
Given me a spouse, thou hath
Me, in her love, she did bathe.

Life was full, much to elate
Joy aplenty on its plate
Not a moment dull or sedate
Or a day that wasn’t great.

Life acquired a new meaning
It was a marathon of dreaming
Everything glossy and gleaming
From it, there was no weaning.

And then…

Dawned on me life’s reality
Ill health took her casualty
The reason was her frailty
Could not fight the actuality.

Nature’s writ final, they say
That no court could stay
Struggled to keep it at bay
Failed badly, to my dismay.

Sent myriad prayers unto thee
Life turned an incessant plea
Gone was mirth, gone was glee
Oh God! When’ll you set us free?


Fell on deaf ears, my entreaty
Before the Court of Almighty
You took from me, my sweetie,
Losing Faith, I turned to impiety.

Stared catastrophe head on
‘Morrow’ gone from lexicon
With life unable to carry on
For solace, progeny looks on.

And now…

Where will I find solace?
Anywhere in the cruel place
Life’s but an endless menace
Finding death is eternal chase.

Give me something to live for
And someone who’ll care for
Balm to soothe wounds galore
Having faith in You, a reason for.

Help me, merciful God Almighty
I don’t want to lose Faith in thee.

***

Sunday, 25 March 2018

I AM TIME


I was there before you
I am there alongside you
I will be there after you.

I perish every moment
I rise very next moment
I flow eternally, too.

I am a flash for a smitten lover
I am an eon in a crisis tower
I love equal, am to none sour.

I am wasted by the lazy
I am utilised by the busy
I stay calm, never dizzy.

I do not return if I am gone
I still return in a new garb
I am an enigma to absorb.

I am at times tough on some
I am sometimes easy on some
I make variations, awesome.

I have a past and a future
I have no dimensions; yet
I am the fourth dimension.

I am measured in seconds
I am measured, too, in eons
I am bystander to man’s history.

I am adored in times that bubble
I am cursed in ages of trouble
I stand by whether tower or rubble.

I keep ticking, I am time.

***


Thursday, 22 March 2018

बुरा न मानो, यह ज़िन्दगी है


वक़्त जो थम गया, पल पल का बुरा मानूँ?
हमसफ़र ने जो साथ छोड़ दिया, क़दम क़दम का बुरा मानूँ?
घायल जो होगया जंग-ए-ज़िन्दगी में, घाव घाव का बुरा मानूँ?
जीवन के दोराहे पे खड़ा हूँ, दिशा दिशा का बुरा मानूँ?
जीने से जो दम घुट रहा है, सांस सांस का बुरा मानूँ?
भला चाहे जो यार, उसकी बात बात का बुरा मानूँ?
बता ए रूह-ए-मजरूह, भला भला का बुरा मानूँ?


***

Friday, 16 March 2018

MESSIAH


The eastern sky is lit in a resplendent orange hue. Everything under the sky – human or inanimate – is bathed in the beautiful bounty of Mother Nature. The cold air of the night is giving way to the gentle, warm breeze of a bright dawn.

The village wakes up to another day, only, that day was different, for it brings with it a man, a dark silhouette in the backdrop of a rising sun bleeding an orange tint all around. Silhouettes do not speak much, but what this one said was a lot. Long, shoulder-length, unkempt hair, a long thin staff in one hand, and knee-length loincloth around the waist, are not a common sight for the villagers.

Workers preparing to leave for tilling, housewives sweeping and watering their front yards and drawing colourful rangolis, and others just lazing in front of their homes look quizzically at the figure walking towards them in the dusty street.

As the figure approaches them closer and closer, the picture becomes clearer and clearer for the villagers. A tall lanky man in knee-length coarse cotton loincloth around the waist, and with long unkempt tresses parted in the middle, does not walk but gently glides through the street at a snail’s pace. The stranger accosts everyone whom he comes across.

A village elder greets him back and asks, “Who are you and where from are you, stranger?”

Politely refusing the offer of a seat, the stranger says, “I am from everywhere.”

“What is your name?”

“Whatever you call me by. You called me stranger. So be it.” The stranger smiles.

“Who are your parents?”

“With my biological parents safely in heaven, God Almighty is my father and mother.”

“Your answers are intriguing. They do not tell anything about you.”

“I am an open book. All answers are in it. It is up to the reader to read.”

“What do you do?”

“Bring peace to ravaged souls; at least, I try to.”

“Are you going to stay here?”

“Do you want me to? Is there a need?”

“I don’t know, but people are unhappy, in general.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it only here or at other places, too?”

“Everywhere, I guess.”

“Have you heard of the universal axiom, ‘a contented man is a happy man’?”

“Our parents used to tell us about contentment.”

“So, what happened?”

“We forgot all that somewhere on the way.”

“Why? You have progressed much with all the technology at your disposal.”

“That’s what we all thought.”

“So, what happened?”

“Everything went awry. Our problems only increased and happiness decreased in an inverse proportion.”

“Sad.”

“There used to be plenty; food grains, water, clean air and, above all, time. We used to spend much time with our families.”

“And, now?”

Sigh…sigh…“Stranger, you look familiar. Are you from Bethlehem?”

The stranger smiles. “Maybe.”

“Or from Mecca, or Lumbini, or Porbandar, or Atlanta?”

“I am from wherever you want me to be from.”

“You have told us nothing about you.”

“I am no stranger to you although you call me by that name. I am born in every age in every place. I was born in Dwapara yug in a jail cell in Mathura. I was born in every place that you mentioned - Bethlehem, Mecca, Lumbini, Porbandar, and Atlanta. I look familiar to you because you have seen me in every epoch. In every epoch, I was killed by tyrants and zealots…because I loved nonviolence and peace …because I preached nonviolence, love, and peace…because I practised nonviolence, love, and peace. I will be killed now, too. I will be born again and shall be killed again by another tyrant. I strive to bring a reign of nonviolence, love, and peace on God’s beautiful earth. That is my mission given to me by the Almighty.”

“Now, I find nothing but hatred and strife on this pathetic planet. You mentioned ‘plenty’. Where have those ‘plenties’ gone? I find that one who asks the inconvenient question is exterminated by any available means – dog-bone whip, crown of thorns, spear, guillotine, lion, bullet, dagger, sword, fire, or bomb. There is paucity for everything - food, water, clean air, and, above all, love. Greed rules this planet now. I am striving to bring peace, at least to one human, one family. I admit, I am finding it difficult. Labours of Hercules are childsplay compared to mine.

“You spend billions on deadly armaments when a huge chunk of population does not have a morsel to eat, a rag to cover their bodies, or a slate to write upon. You forget that the earth is but one nation. You perpetuate the mistake of Babel. You, with your ingenuity, make it worse for personal gains. You divide populations on religious, caste, class, and colour lines. You exterminate six millions of a particular sect, for you attribute reasons for all your failures to them. You do not use your knowledge for peaceful and progressive purposes but create deadly nuclear and chemical weapons and exterminate thousands and thousands of innocent populations. You practise and preach apartheid and untouchability.

“You introduce religious insanity and mercilessly slay thousands, while you let millions suffer without food, water, and clean air. You pollute the ground, the water, and the air, which God Almighty has bestowed upon you. You give your children’s hand deadly weapons instead of a pencil. You give in your children’s stomachs killer drugs instead of a glass of milk. You worship goddesses yet you treat women as vassals. You deny them education, freedom, and basic human dignity. You lust for them and use them as sex objects.

“This is the only planet where millions of such unique life forms exist. Your lifestyle destroys thousands of species every day. Millions of lives are lost regularly stricken by floods, drought, storms, avalanches, landslides, earthquakes, and tidal waves. The salubrious climates created by God Almighty are eroded. Your seasons are changing, thus creating havoc in human life.

“Yet, you do not learn from your mistakes, either as individuals or as nations. You rescind the cosmic philosophy that your generation has merely borrowed the earth and the universe from your children’s generation. You degrade the environment as if there is no tomorrow. You do not even realise that it is your children and their children who suffer. Babies are born with incurable breathing diseases. Yet you are blind to reality.

“Wake up at least now, for there is no tomorrow for this planet. Spread peace and love. Follow the path shown by the pacifists of yore. Follow the simple philosophies propounded by them. How can I help you if you do not help yourself? Let charity begin at home. Let reform begin with one human – yourself. Let it begin now.”

The village elder was silent for long minutes.

“Are you a messiah?”

“Why do you need a messiah to tell you what to do?”

“Are you a pagan? To which religion do you belong?”

“Oh my God! I cannot help these people. Take me unto thee, never to return.”

“He teaches us wrong philosophies. He insults our gods. He is an atheist. Stone him, stone him to death…” The chorus grows.

Then fall the stranger.

***