Mahfuuz

Tushar and Tarangini - Jugalbandi

2011-02-10T02:42:00.000-08:00

Retro..

2009-10-30T04:36:00.001-07:00

when the last word is said

and the clamour collapses

into a silent heap

unsaid words

incomplete conversations

aborted thoughts

and irritable pauses

start swaying in your mind

like danglers

outside a shop

in a curfew-ridden city

Vijay (c) 30th October, 2009

Kandaghat to Solan on the Hill Railways

2009-10-05T03:11:00.000-07:00

Chail and nearabouts

2009-10-05T03:04:00.000-07:00

Dhikuli – near Corbett

2009-08-16T20:56:00.000-07:00

That was a memorable trip, more so for the reason that I badly needed a break. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to unwind - The TARANGI SPA & RESORTS at Dhikuli, Uttarakhand.

I slowly dissolved into the various shades of green that the resort was painted in. It is an expansive place by the River Kosi. A swimming pool was what I wanted since my kids really enjoy swimming. What I got at the Resort was a fairly big swimming pool facing the River with the background of the hills. The clouds descending on the hill and the light drizzle that stayed throughout made my day. I haven’t walked in the drizzle and enjoyed the beauty of nature as much as I did on this weekend. Workers at the Resort are local people who attend to you as if you are a guest at their home. I have no hesitation in saying that they do justice to their tagline written at the main gate – Athithi Devo Bhava.

The food was above par and the care with which it was served made it feel tastier. The rooms are spacious and well appointed, with enough ventilation and view of the surroundings. Two things I liked most about the place – No Television, No Internet connectivity!!!!

Of the gates of the Corbett National Park and Tiger Reserve, which is in the vicinity, only one – Jharna Gate – was stated to be open for visitors and it would be mid November when all would be open. Even on the Jharna Gate, I was told that only a maximum of 26 vehicles would be allowed permit to enter the Corbett in the morning session starting at 6 AM. On the last day of my stay, I contracted a 4x4 Maruti Gypsy and set out with my family to try my luck at entering Corbett. However, due to heavy rains, the Gate remained closed for the day. The 150 odd people trying to be amongst the lucky 26 permits went without luck. Not to be disappointed we set out to Sitamani around 25 Kms away from Ramnagar. We could spot a few Sambhar, spotted Deer, Lingers, giant Lizards, Pea hens and wild Boars on the way. The ride around the jungle, with me and the kids standing and holding on to the roof-railings of the Maruti Gypsy, as the drizzle and cold wind caressed our faces, was something which I would like to do again.

There are two other things which I would associate with the trip. On my way to Dhikuli, a few kilometres before Gajraula, a local was fatally hit by a speeding truck. The villagers jammed the highway for around 3 hours. The local police who came to control the situation was awfully outnumbered by the villagers, who pelted stones at the Police. Finally, peace was restored and we could move forward. Then, on my way back, I touched Delhi border at Ghaziabad in flat four hours. But due to a heavy jam at Ghazipur crossing, I had to try three detours in a little less than an hour before I could reach my home, which is located about 5 minutes drive from the Ghaziabad Border.

Wish I could own some land in Dhikuli and retire...never to be back in the maddening hustle bustle of city life.

The pics are here for you to savour:

First Tabla Recital - Tushar & Tarangini

2009-04-12T20:25:00.000-07:00

Tushar and Tarangini had their first Tabla Recital on 11.04.2009 at the Little Theatre Group Auditorium, Copernicus Marg, New Delhi, under aegis of their Music School - Sangitika. It was a proud moment for me. I am sharing some pictures with you.

A song for me on my Birthday

2008-05-13T21:15:00.000-07:00

Now Kamal as 10 different characters - Dashavtaar

2008-05-03T00:42:00.000-07:00

[Transcreation] Fear

2008-05-01T20:59:00.000-07:00

effortlessly

like an ink drop

in water

a wisp of smoke

in air

melting like

knotted doubts do

into my thoughts

timely

like emergency breaks

of a speeding vehicle,

a magnet ensconced

in an iron coil

it fills me up

and becomes me

a virtue in current times

fear

A Malayalam Poem “Pedi” by T.P. Vinod
Transcreated by Vijay © 2nd May, 2008

Original Poem

[Transcreation] The Bitch

2008-03-12T20:27:00.000-07:00

she would

whine

if a stone is picked up

tail withdrawn,

fret, dart,

turn the bend

and vanish.

with cloudy cringed eyes

ward of sleep, and

melt in compassion

at pups suckling

deprived breasts

wag her tail

at a whiplash

stretch her trembling legs

prostrate before the master

then, lie flat on her back

counting his breath

“Kodichi” A poem in Malayalam by Muse Mary
Transcreation by Vijay © 13.03.2008
http://harithakam.com/ml/Poem.asp?ID=508

[Transcreation] Shadow

2008-02-29T20:17:00.000-08:00

When it elongates, enlarges

and then shrinks itself,

the Shadow isn’t biding time,

for all you know.

It might just be its efforts

to cover the sorrow and pain

of having to meekly live

for a lifetime

underneath one man.

A poem in Malayalam by Veerankutti
Transcreation by Vijay © 28th February, 2008

[Transcreation] Hampi

2008-02-06T19:06:00.000-08:00

Evenings in Hampi*

are done in gold

Like golden epochs,

they lose their sheen quickly

It isn’t the Sun

which caressed a whole town

to gold, nor is it Indra*

who removed its soiled cover

I am sure,

within its barren temples

is a suffocated past,

alongside Tungabhadra*

is a vibrant present

But, a future? I doubt.

A poem in Malayalam by Venu Kandurkunnu
Transcreation by Vijay © 6th February, 2008

*Hampi

*Indra

*Tungabhadra

[Transcreation] Gaya

2008-02-06T19:02:00.000-08:00

Gaya

A cruel lesson!

Beside

the star retreats,

named synonymous

with the Great one,

prostrate seedy by-lanes

in yellow tatters

Like Bodhisatva*

from the Jataka* tales,

the Banyan is in

its umpteenth reincarnation

It’s roots are on sale,

at every nook and corner,

at obscene prices

A tonsured evening

gets lost in the cacophony

of bells and conchs

-shuns prayer

The progenies of Bimbisara* know,

the teeming crowd,

their lame limbs,

are beyond His reach

The Nirvana attained by

the ones who walk out

is alien to the ones

who are thrown out

A Banyan’s shade is not must

to attain enlightenment

I realized

at the railway platform

I became Buddha

before my adieu to Gaya

A poem in Malayalam by Venu Kandurkunnu

Transcreation by Vijay © 6^th February, 2008

* Bodhisattva

* Jataka

* Bimbisara

[Transcreation] Reasons

2008-02-04T19:50:00.000-08:00

A moustache
Neatly combed hair
A confident smile
Taut English

Wider eyes
A leather bound
Indian Passport
inside of which smarts
a snap of mine
on a Schengen Visa

This is all that I have, and
my co-passenger to France,
the Korean, lacks
and also perhaps the reason why
only I am detained*
at Airports and Railway Stations
by inquisitive Gendarmes

A poem in Malayalam by Pramod K.M.
Transcreation by Vijay © 5th February, 2008

*NB: The word detained is used deliberately but not meant to connote an arrest.

Proud to be an Indian

2008-01-24T20:00:00.000-08:00

[Transcreation] Tired?

2008-01-17T19:34:00.001-08:00

Tired of its relentless pursuit,
the River reclines
into puddles and potholes

Tired of standing upright
the Mountain breaks down
and gets on to trucks

Tired of holding the skies
Trees make their way
to a Lumber mill

Dear Wind
Aren’t you tired too?
Its time you became selfish

Today,
you are cheaper than bottled water
With your age and maturity
it would pay
to enter a bottle and recline

A poem in Malayalam by Vishnu Prasad
Transcreation by Vijay © 18th January, 2007
LINK

ONV - Three Poems

2008-01-04T03:04:00.001-08:00

India – 1984

Three Poems

I. The Crab

The travails of a “Mighty Crab”
or of a meekly one?

The story – what should I name, but then
what is in a name?

The sandy expanse of a forlorn beach
is where I saw her, with her small ones

They crawled up her body, playfully,
ambling to enjoy a piggyback ride

Like Gingelly seeds, they slowly
rose up to swarm around to cover her

Unmindful of their weight,
the mother let them be

Is it the inebriations of overt joy
or a blissful siesta she slips into

Her legs bend once and straighten,
then to go inert

Are they chocking their mother,
like sharp thorns pierce their seeds?

Oh! Her little ones are nibbling,
fighting, for a piece of hers

The smaller ones slide off her
like excess sand through the fingers

On the sand sprinkled in light hues
of fresh crimson by a a setting sun

I see now only lifeless muddied
abandoned and orphaned hard shells

Just for a moment, did the dead shells
regroup to form the Indian map?

II. Candle

From its stand, the child
took off the candle

Set aflame both its ends
Holding it high in his hand

Still riding the crest
of innocent childish pranks

He holds the centre of the candle
careful, not to burn his fingers

The sun scorches his head
the sand below, his feet

The two ends burnt fast
as time would run out for a death-convict

Wax drops down
like time flying by

Like a finger counting rosaries perched
atop the lap of an impending disaster

The candle burns at both ends
My heart frets, burns within

III. A voice from nowhere

Neither near nor far or from the skies
Yet, loud and clear

A voice, that hasn’t ever been heard
from any being trudging on the earth

It is neither the Church bells chiming
nor the crackers’ burst at a temple fair

It is not the tongue of a speeding
fire-engine’s bell lashing out

Rains haven’t faltered in their walk
neither have winds quarreled with the woods

Yet, what is this voice that reaches from nowhere
that rumbles and makes it presence felt

Is it the displeasure of those dead and long gone,
furious at an offerings being stopped

When the words of those alive
wither away like fallen autumn leaves

who shall even lend them an ear
if the dead protest from down under

Or is it the venomous snakes rattling to ward off
intruders from an attic full of secret treasures

Is it the sound of sorrow of insatiated souls
For whom requiems still remaining unsung

The ghosts of the past we had caged in a pot,
are they secretly scheming to break free

Mother, are you letting free the molten moments
which would engulf every life one day

By ONV Kurup in Malayalam
Transcreation by Vijay © January 4, 2008

P.S:
Here is a link about ONV, the poet:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O._N._V._Kurup

Though written in 1984, I consider that the Poet’s questions still remain unanswered after long 24 years. Poems, which in their context, transcend time.

[Poem] A wandering question

2007-12-28T19:44:00.000-08:00

Questions wed their Answers
after a courtship, long
Questions nailed to the present
Answers shall change their form

How long will it be
till discontent sets in
and Answers start looking for
new Questions to fit in

Always a matchmaker's agony
is finding brides for grooms
All Answers have their Questions
but for Questions, mostly brooms*

*brooms - as in "brushing under the carpet"

[Transcreation] Stairs

2007-12-22T21:36:00.000-08:00

1.

It’s a Poem

that’s climbing the stairs,

inebriated.

A while ago, it was at the grocer’s

Before that, at the Town Hall

It wears silence as a virtue

Keeps laughter at bay

Doesn’t bend knees or wash face

Doesn’t know how to sit

Its sprawled on the road now,

after a plunge down the building,

in a thousand pieces

2.

….and the one alighting the stairs

is a Story

Melodramatic to the core

Contemporary in substance

Hurriedly, it gets into a car

with a critique in tow

and speeds off to nowhere

3.

Stairs is merely a metaphor

A metaphor of disaster,

where one gets shattered

in the climb and descent

The careless may

get dizzy, tired of a climb,

can fall, get hurt in a descent

Even with the explanations,

Stairs still remain doormats

for an ungrateful reader

A poem in Malayalam by Sohrab

Transcreation in Malayalam by Vijay © 22nd December, 2007

[Verse] Introspection

2007-12-20T02:42:00.000-08:00

I am sure

I am different.

Sometimes by design,

otherwise by chance,

I do things differently.

I guess,

sometimes by design,

otherwise by chance,

different is each one from me.

But then,

am I different at all?

Vijay © 20th December, 2007

[Verse] Flash

2007-11-27T08:05:00.000-08:00

I glide on my incessant questions,
as one would, effortlessly, on arrows
Should I proudly perch on their tips
or discreetly hide in their fletching

Vijay © 26th November, 2007

[Transcreation] Shadows

2007-09-06T01:39:00.000-07:00

Shadows
They are night’s children
who slipped away
soon as they were born

But for them,
day would have
forgotten
the contour of night
forever.

A poem in Malayalam by Veerankutti
http://www.harithakam.com/ml/Poem.asp?ID=375

Transcreation by Vijay © 3rd September, 2007

A Shaayar's dilemma

2007-08-29T03:17:00.000-07:00

As the sun sets in the west
battle lines are drawn

Qaafiyaa and Radif renew their fight
for Beher, their usual pawn

Amidst cadavers of words
a Ghazal awaits the dawn

A Maqta curiously watches
a Takhallus saddled on

Vijay © 29th August, 2007

Qaafiyaa
Radif
Beher
Maqta
Takhallus

My transcreations have been publsihed

2007-08-07T21:21:00.000-07:00

The India Habitat Centre and Delhi Poetree organized a poetry reading by 50 poets (across 4 languages - English, Hindi, Urdu and Punjabi) at the Stein Auditorium, India Habitat Centre on the 7th of August, 2007 to mark the first anniversary of Delhi Poetree which hosts Tuesday Night as Poetree Night at the India Habitat Centre and poetry readings across many venues in Delhi and the National Capital Region.

The Chief Minister of Delhi, Sheila Dixit inaugurated the function and a small anthology of 50 poems called "In Many Voices" was also released. Contributers to the anthology include Keki N Daruwallah, Amit Dahiyabadshah, Tarannum Riyaz, Deepa Agarwal, Makarand Paranjape and Tino da Sa, among others and has been edited by Manjul Bajaj.

Two of my transcreations find a proud place in the anthology. They are:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SPACELESS

"Forgotten for ever are they,
once they fall from their place,
Hair, Women and Nails."
So explained our Sanskrit Teacher,
the essence of a Shloka,
and scared, we girls,
got riveted onto our seats.

Space? What is space?
Its meaning clear to us
in our first grade itself
We remember each word
of those early lessons

"Ram, go to the school!"
"Radha, prepare dinner!"
"Ram, have one more bite!"
"Radha, sweep the floor!"
"Your brother is feeling sleepy,
go, prepare his bed!"

Wow, our new house!
"Ram, this is your room!"
"And, mine?"
"Are you insane?
Girls, Winds and Sunlight are like sand,
they have no abode to call their own!"

Where, in what space, what slot, are they,
those who don't have an abode?
Where is that space, by losing which,
I would become a woman?
Like nail-bits,
like hair strands on a comb,
to be peeled off and thrown away?

A house, left behind
An abode, left behind
left behind are the people I loved
But, some questions followed me
Now, I have left behind them too

Left behind are some spaces

But, never ever did I feel
Like being stuck in a nail-cutter
or dangling loosely in a comb

De-hors my culture, I feel
like a small couplet
extracted from a timeless Classic
and sprinkled on the question paper of B.A. Pass Course
-yet wary of anyone analyzing or answering me.

Beyond each hurdle
with much effort have I flapped my wings
So what if they read me
like Tukaram's unfinished prose?

A poem in Hindi titled "Be.jagah" by Anamika
Transcreated on 30th March, 2006
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PUNCTUATIONS

Forced to turn even
the slightest of incoherent grunts
into questions,
perhaps annoyed,
the question mark
stoops and hangs its head

In the heat of
the surprises
that couldn't be penned,
in the anger
at not being able to read them all,
the exclamation mark
melts in agony

Like a child in the womb
unfazed,
it can recline
and meditate
That explains the sanity
of a semi-colon
even as words crowd around

When they are herded together,
those heavy ones from the past,
to keep them in line,
the quotation signs
could perhaps be
silently praying to the present tense

Perhaps in its inability to tell anyone
that the end is merely a myth,
lies the sorrow of a gloomy full-stop
and the reason
for its shrunken existence

A poem in Malayalam by T.P. Vinod
Transcreated on 1st March, 2007
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Transcreation] Realisation

2007-08-01T20:42:00.000-07:00

At the island, a snake bit me
My body turned blue, I became a child again

There were stairs ahead for me to climb
Atop, I saw my grandfather
Unlike him, his growing beard defied death

I perched atop his lap he lovingly offered
He squeezed a leaf and made me drink
When the poison subsided, I was in another world

No hatred or war
Humans and Gods were stark naked
All bathed in an aura
In the same aura,
my sister had shown me once
inside the hollow of a tamarind tree

We thought, in our childish naivety
that it was a diamond
But, we were wrong
It was that world

There was no religion
There was only the soul
No darkness, neither death
No insides or outsides
Neither beginnings nor ends
None was alone
Everyone bathed in the same river,
ate from the same tree

A fairy whispered in my ear:
“The second millennium is over”
A loud roar reverberated in my ears
I was alone,
surrounded by fire

Velipadu - A poem in Malayalam by K. Satchidanandan
Transcreation by Vijay © 31st July, 2007

[Translation] The pencil

2007-07-23T04:45:00.000-07:00

Confined inside its box,
to an impish sharpener,
the pencil extolled its virtue.
“I am like Saddam. The one,
who faced the noose with a roar.”
Soon arrived Maalu,
the owner of the box.
Into the mouth of the sharpener,
she thrust the pencil, and

Click…!!

Allah-o-Akbar!!

A poem in Malayalam by Abhirami
Translation by Vijay © 23rd July, 2007

[Transcreation] Vibrant paints

2007-07-23T04:43:00.000-07:00

The pictures I painted,

they were vibrant as life.

Flowers, butterflies, grasshoppers, jasmine-clusters,

a small boat tiding over the river,

even a ball of fire playing hide and seek

from behind the hills.

Then I painted some dark clouds.

In their ruthless downpour,

my submerged imagination spread.

The wily wind took it away in its fold

On its face was a crooked smile,

in my eyes, a tear drop.

A poem in Malayalam by ABHIRAMI

Transcreation by Vijay © 22nd June, 2007

About Abhirami:

She is a sixth grade student in the Upper Primary Government School at Edappal in District Malappuram, Kerala. Her poems have been published in Mathrubhumi's publications like Kutti-dot-com and Eureka.

[English Ghazal] Despair

2007-07-04T21:23:00.000-07:00

In the city of dreams it rains no more
Urchins sing from her lanes no more

Silence breaks when Vultures flap wings
Can hear those lullaby strains no more

The green sheath she wore was shorn, not shed
Parched is her skin, but it pains no more

In her veil are concealed a thousand wounds
She tries breaking the chains no more

A million words that she taught me to speak
This ghazal is for her, with refrains no more

“Mahfuuz”, to fate you too succumbed, it seems
Blood flows but rebels in your veins no more

Vijay © 5th July, 2007

Kikar - A hidden paradise

2007-06-27T02:15:00.002-07:00

The Kikar Lodge.

Till the time I neared the place, I was under the impression that Kikar is the name of the place. I was sadly mistaken. The place gets its name from the tree "KIKAR". Kikar is a thorny small tree which grows to a height of 7 meters (Botanical Name: Acacia nilotica). The lodge (a quite modest way of calling it) is situated in a valley full of Kikar Trees. Once known as the Singh Farms, the expansive estate of 1800 Acres is actually a private jungle. The well maintained lawns, comfortable plush cottages, friendly staff all defy the thought that you are right there, in the middle of a jungle. As I would have liked it, there ws no television and in the age of cut-throat connectivity battles, the mobile signals were sporadic.

Two large swimming pools had us parents shout at the kids to get out of them, lest they came under the weather. The snooker table and Table Tennis room added to the charm. The Kairali franchise of Spa helped one relax. The night trip in an open Gypsy with searchlights took you into the jungle for a Safari-esque experience.

One got up in the morning to see a pair of peacocks sitting luxuriously at the front door. From the cottages, one could see a Deer or two pacing off.

All in all, a place worth a visit.

Its a 320 Kilometers drive from Delhi. Catch the Chandigarh Highway, then onto Ropar/Roopnagar, which is around 45 Kilometers from Chandigarh. From the Ropar Barrage, turn right towards Nurpur Bedi, around 30 Kilometers further down. Once your reach Nurpur Bedi, you take a left turn onto a small road leading to the Kangar Village. Then, through the dirt roads of Kangar Village you climb a bit, say 10 minutes to reach the Kikar Lodge.

Let me add. The website of the place i.e., http://www.thekikarlodge.com does not do proper justice to the place. One has to be told about the fun of travelling from Nurpur Bedi to the lodge to really appreciate the journey.

From there, we visited the Nangal Barrage, Bhakra Dam (You must see it to believe in vision), Naina Devi Temple and Anandpur Sahib, all in a single drive.

Here are some pictures of the Lodge and nearabouts.

My land, my virtue - IV

2007-06-17T07:10:00.001-07:00

My land, my virtue - III

2007-06-17T07:07:00.001-07:00

May land, my virtue - II

2007-06-17T07:03:00.001-07:00

My land, my virtue

2007-06-17T06:20:00.001-07:00

Keralam

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[Poem] Desires

2007-06-17T02:31:00.001-07:00

Whirlwinds, storms and tremors
that you unleashed, succeeded.
I succumbed to your might.

Still, my heart craves

to be blessed with relentless downpour
for I want you to soak me to my core,
for I want my insatiate vapors to subside.

Once, at least once
I wish to look into your eyes fearlessly,
unmindful of your blinding aura.

and then,

casually holding hands,
without getting immersed in you,
to flow by your side, forever.

Vijay © 16th June, 2007

An untitled transcreation

2007-06-13T03:28:00.001-07:00

This should not offend you, but

Our love,
that we had silently buried
before it could be a boy or a girl,
beside the markings
next to the lifeline on your left palm,
yesterday night, I kissed it
without letting you know

It asked me:
Why?
Is this the love
you had forgotten to part in my last birth
or is it in repentance for a future
where you will abandon me on the street?

I said: Neither.
On a rain drenched evening in this birth
just before the dusk could hang
the roadside banyans upside down,
a Lambretta scooter passed by
and in its irritant sound
torn into two
I and she,
the one who couldn’t mother you,
ran into two separate houses
to keep our selves dry
You are the chastisement
that we were handed over

It smiled and got up
Holding my kiss in its delicate palms
it followed my footsteps to my house

You might rue this loss,
but feel free to settle scores tonight
without letting me know

“Vizhuppu” A poem in Malayalam by Anwar Ali
Transcreation by Vijay © 13th June, 2007

[Transcreation] What Nero said

2007-05-23T22:09:00.000-07:00

19th July, AD 64

Why loathe me

for playing my fiddle

whilst Rome burns to ashes?

Isn’t it you who set the first flame?

Would the fire extinguish

if my fingers stop?

Will the fire rage anymore

riding on the notes of my song?

Susceptible is the artist within me

I cannot withstand the cries

of the fumes of burning flesh,

I abhor seeing

the art and efforts of great sculptors

ground into mere pieces of marble

I did not wish to hear

the helpless cries of Romulus,

the hapless last breaths of those heads

which dangle from spikes of leaders

fighting for a share in power,

the wails springing from skeletons

of Jesus’ disciples

sacrificed to crosses and lions,

the roar of blood oozing from

the headless torso of Pompey,

the groans of common men

crushed beneath Caesars’s throne,

the sighs let out by blood spilled

from the body of Mark Anthony,

the enticer of Cleopatra,

Octavian’s dreaded drum rolls,

incessant clanks from iron chains

from around the legs of slaves

who from Carthage to gaols,

fought for a stranger’s empire

I am afraid of my own shadow

My only solace is my fiddle

Please do not snatch this away from me

in its own sins as this city burns

“Neroyude Athmagatham”
A poem in Malayalam by K. Satchidanandan
Transcreation by Vijay © 24th May, 2007

[Transcreation] Prompting a conversation

2007-05-20T23:00:00.000-07:00

Prompting a conversation

I.

We live inside a dagger
A dagger being brandished by someone else
It is somebody else's heart that it targets
Then, the blood that oozes out blinds us
Smeared in that blood are our war cries
We copulate soaked in that blood
Bloodied are even our dreams

II.

Atop swinging Satellite Television cables
above the simmering street
alights Ezhuthachan's* parrot
sans the olive branch in its beak
blood trickling down its wings

III.

But for tears
I too would have been a dagger
It's my mother who gifted me tears
She was dumb, but in her songs
I drowned and died

IV.

It is a girl that I always wanted to be
As a child, wearing skirts and lining my eyes with kohl
I danced in front of the mirror
No, I do not wish
for twenty men to tear me apart
No, I do not wish you to
usher a third girl into this blinding sunlight

V.

The tears gifted by mother,
the pearls I shed from my eyes
failed to wake up the sea
But, somewhere a small child
heard them fall and opened its eyes
to a flowery existence

VI.

The Dagger does not talk to flowers
It only tears apart roads and cities
It enters each heart merely in the quest
to seek out religions
It dips into each word
to seek out political leanings

VII.

Stranded between a forest and fire
gifted by her beloved husband
Asan's* Sita reminisces
of the sacrifice of Ravana,
the man who taught her what true love is
For a son as demonically intense a lover as him
her womb craves today

VIII.

Amorous words there are no more
Each word, merely a shattered piece
of a broken bottle of wine
We hurt each other with them
When the world pastes subpoenas on your door,
love remains nothing
but relishing each other's blood

IX.

Our language has died
The one who wrote it has escaped
On our shoulders travels the corpse
like the vampire, Betal
Neither the sweet chirps of birds
nor the tinkling bells of golden anklets
can answer its questions

X.

Those with a stammer
speak incessantly without demur
I, like a tongue cut fool
merely grunt and groan
The winds tell me
that what is lost shall be regained
I am afraid it's a dream
and I lash myself with a whip

XI.

Lillies bloom
on the banks of the river Brahmaputra
You are there in the room no more
My back itches
Perhaps, it seeks to load one more corpse
Or maybe, just maybe,
the itch is to sprout fresh wings
immune to daggers
Outside, in the scorching sun
a Jatayu* writhes in pain

A poem in Malayalam by K. Satchidanandan
Transcreation by Vijay © 19th May, 2007

*Ezhuthachan - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thunchaththu_Ramanujan_Ezhuthachan

*Asan - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kumaran_Asan

*Jatayu - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jatayu_%28Ramayana%29

On Uttar Pradesh

2007-05-11T04:46:00.000-07:00

The Elephant tramples over the Hand
In its mammoth shadow the lotus wilts
Smashed bicycles strew the way
and I see how fortune tilts

Vijay (c) 11th May, 2007

[Translations] The walkers

2007-05-10T22:20:00.000-07:00

There are two categories of people who go out for a walk. The ones who frequent the same place everyday and the ones who seek out a new place each day. Sometimes, the new place the latter discover is the same place as the former frequent. But, for the latter it would be a new place after all.

On their way, the ones who frequent the same place may come across the ones who seek out new places. While passing by each other, they would wonder as to how some reach the same place and some, a new place while treading the same path.

Then there are the ones who frequent the same place only to realize one day that it is but a new place. Then they think of themselves to be amongst those who seek out a new place each day. Their ignorance stems from obliviousness. Like suddenly a day a husband would seem a stranger to his wife and a father would find his son to be a stranger. Contrary to what some may conclude, this is not a symptom of any ailment. This is the symptom of a change. When this change occurs, one gets attracted to someone from the same sex, a student starts teaching his teacher, a pet dog bites his master, trees question the human race, rivers overflow their banks and one world invades the other.

Those who are in the habit of discovering new places everyday may realize one day that the place they considered new was not one after all. Feeling ashamed, they would conceal this fact from the world. As a result, many would for many years walk towards the same place each day under the false pretext of walking to a new place. One day, someone would fearlessly shout and tell the world the truth. Then, what was unknown would become familiar. Those who wanted to seek out new places would abandon old paths. The world can even be changed this way; however, they are unaware that there is a tiger lying in wait on the new path. Finally, the world starts believing only in people who do not venture out on a walk.

Translated in prose form from
“nadakkaan pokunnavar”, a poem in Malayalam by Satchidanandan.

Vijay © 8th May, 2007

[Poem] Counselling

2007-05-04T19:41:00.000-07:00

My palms, like anesthesia’s effect,
sooth stiff nerves on your hands,
to help you melt inhibitions

My question, like that one single incision,
elicits a shudder yet gives me a leeway
enough to explore further

My eyes, like dexterous endoscopic tubes,
probe and prod your innards
to locate extent of the spread

My words, like a surgeon’s glove-clad fingers,
reach deep down your mind and take out
with precision, the implanted lies

My assurances, like soft cotton swabs,
try cleansing the bleeding voids
where the cancerous lies clung

My smiles, like surgical threads
weave to stitch the open wounds
But I guess, in vain

The damage was already done
You seem to have opted
to live with them
or perhaps, even die.

Vijay © 3rd May, 2007

[Transcreation] Today

2007-04-26T21:34:00.000-07:00

You said something
and an ocean turned into a wave
roaring past us

Like from the drenched pages
of frightened winds
poetry drips in whispers,
then I queried

Did you ask me to
never call you again
or was it
never to leave you again?

Estranged by distances,
our expressions of love and hate
are unfortunate prisoners
of an insensitive telephone

A poem in Malayalam by Bijoy Chandran
Transcreation by Vijay © 27^th April, 2007

(Thanks, Asmita)

[English Ghazal] Don't mind

2007-04-23T10:08:00.000-07:00

A tippler, am always on a high, don’t mind
Its sheer joy that makes me cry, don’t mind

Mark my words, I speak only the truth
If a slur precedes my sigh, don’t mind

With Scotch and Cognac, tempt me, you may
Am content with some Rye, don’t mind

Generously, you bought me a drink
If I were to ask you “why”, don’t mind

Please demonstrate that charity again
My bottle has gone dry, don’t mind

You wish to walk me home, you say
After five down, I fly, don’t mind

You are kind, O! My host for the night
Still, my conscience you can’t buy, don’t mind

“Mahfuuz” don’t cozy up to me as yet
You seem dubious and sly, don’t mind

Vijay © 23rd April, 2007

[Poem] A reminder of our times

2007-04-19T18:01:00.000-07:00

Once a man walked on a road

From his footsteps sprouted an army
merely to degenerate into many nodes
From each node, popped out a head
To challenge each head, then grew another one

From each challenger, sprouted a fresh node
The fresh nodes gave birth to a counter-army,
an underground one
This counter-army paved its own road

While the heads and their opponents
were lost in their utopian parlays,
the army and its nemesis fought
with many weapons, big and small

The road and its rival met at a crossroad,
to clash in a flash and retreat, headless

Today, on a road headed nowhere, stand
the heads and their armies
with nowhere to go

Vijay © 19th April, 2007
(Inspired by M. Pushpangadhan’s Malayalam Poem “Vazhiyillapokkar”)

[Poem] March Blues

2007-03-29T09:43:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, life is a written speech
In between commas and full-stops, expectantly,
it seeks the approval of its silent audience

Sometimes, life goes extempore
Even its ever-vigilant audience fails
to read between its cunning ellipses

Vijay © 28th March, 2007

[Transcreation] Form

2007-03-26T11:42:00.000-07:00

When I stew in my heat
and outflow my brim
to drip onto myself
and burn within
Pour myself down
to douse the flames
do I still need to confirm
that the hearth is mine?

A poem in Malayalam by T.P. Vinod
Transcreation by Vijay � 25th March, 2007

Come, fly with me

2007-03-21T04:04:00.000-07:00

The Delhi Nukkad meet

2007-03-12T03:39:00.000-07:00

Nukkad is an online community on the Ryze Business Network, which I co-moderate alongwith six other friends. In a short span of two months, the community has pleasently grown to a level where members are eager and look forward to off-line meet ups. Recently, on 10th March, 2007, a Nukkad meet was organised at Delhi, which had 25 Nukkadites in attendance. Songs, shaayari, jokes and personal banter took an evening to the wee hours of morning till we realised it was time to go home. Here is a video presentation of some moments.

[Villanelle] The game of dice - On Women's day

2007-03-08T13:02:00.000-08:00

Let us again play that game of dice
wager on board our hard-earned pride
Ignore, turn deaf ears, if history cries

Pitted against you is your own device,
Conquering your might in a single stride
Let us again play that game of dice

Be on guard this time, think twice
I am no more that five-man’s bride
Ignore, turn deaf ear, if history cries

From when you unclothed me in a trice
I have swum across many a tide
Let us again play that game of dice

You made history and etched it nice
Achievements of mine, you brushed aside
Ignore, turn deaf ear, if history cries

Innocence is dead, rue not its demise
If you lose, try and find a place to hide
Let us again play that game of dice
Ignore, turn deaf ear, if history cries

Vijay © 8th March, 2007

[English Ghazal] I may

2007-03-05T00:39:00.000-08:00

I am but a human, whine I may
Though the pains and hurt are mine, I may

When all dread before a budge for sure
Get up and walk across the line, I may

Usually, I refrain from reacting to fools
But dare you to call me a swine, I may

Abuse, I can, with my words, you know
Though my words twist and refine, I may

Don't need to prove that my soil I love
If you question my spirit and spine, I may

Should I stop writing any more ghazals?
If that's what you want, its fine, I may

Don't say "Mahfuuz" doesn't change his mind
Give me good company, some caviar and wine, I may

[Transcreation] Punctuations

2007-03-04T09:33:00.000-08:00

Forced to turn even

the slightest of incoherent grunts

into questions,

perhaps annoyed,

the question mark

stoops and hangs its head

In the heat of

the surprises

that couldn’t be penned,

in the anger

at not being able to read them all,

the exclamation mark

melts in agony

Like a child in the womb

unfazed,

it can recline

and meditate

That explains the sanity

of a semi-colon

even as words crowd around

When they are herded together,

those heavy ones from the past,

to keep them in line,

the quotation signs

could perhaps be

silently praying to the present tense

Perhaps in its inability to tell anyone

that the end is merely a myth,

lies the sorrow of a gloomy full-stop

and the reason

for its shrunken existence

A poem in Malayalam by T.P. Vinod
Transcreation by Vijay © 1st March, 2007

Almost complete - My new office

2007-02-22T21:21:00.000-08:00

Ajmer and Pushkar Trip

2006-12-25T22:14:00.000-08:00

[Poem] Nightmare

2006-12-23T21:59:00.000-08:00

Then there are some
inside the forgotten folds of mind
With sinister designs
time wakes them up, once in a while

Like that edgy drop on a leaf
then names play at the tip of your tongue
In stubborn refusal to come undone
voices deceitfully echo in your ears

You run around darkened alleys
Stumble, get up and stumble again
finally to reach a heap of discarded fetus
Into the repulsive heap then you dig deep
to find life, sense a throb, maybe
but vainly

A gloom sets in
before the chilly Christmas breeze
shakes you up from deep slumber
You slowly get up
Chary, lest you wake up a tomorrow
peacefully sleeping in your arms

Vijay © 24th December, 2006

An evening at the Cherayi Beach, Kerala

2006-12-22T22:11:00.000-08:00

Pachyderms of Guruvayur

2006-12-22T22:05:00.000-08:00

[Transcreation] Freedom

2006-12-14T23:05:00.000-08:00

A photothought

2006-12-11T01:09:00.000-08:00

Capture us for eternity, if you may

This moment shall be lost, forever

Stark reality shall soon deliver

our innocence on the dissection tables

of international art houses;

to be butchered by prying eyes

of wizards of the gab

Sooner than later

the spotlight shall turn on you

Amidst accolades and bouquets

when that piece of paper you take out

from inside your freshly stitched tuxedo

to thank friends, relatives and dear ones,

do not forget to start with a preface:

Robbed of their tears,

it is now dreams that they shed

Vijay © 10th December, 2006

PS: The photograph is displayed on my friend and Ryzer Kamakhya Singh's photo collection on Orkut.

[Poem] Salvation

2006-12-03T20:17:00.000-08:00

Remember what we were told?
They extracted promises from us
when this journey we commenced
They assured us salvation
if we could
if only we could
get this horse to the destination

Try retrospection and you will realise
For them, we never were important
Only the horse was
Come what may to us
we were to endure this journey

In them, we believed
In them, we placed our trust
Unmindful of our hunger and thirst
We fed the horse, quenched its thirst
We bathed it, brushed its mane
In its beauty we were lost for a while

The ungrateful animal
never gave us back what it got
Instead,
it bit us, stomped all over us
The hoof marks are still fresh

Let us not now debate
whether we killed it
or it died its natural death
Truth, as it is today, is that
with this corpse on our shoulders
we cannot walk the length anymore

Let us bury it here and now
and walk
Walk on different paths, perhaps
I am sure they must have bluffed us
This must be our destiny
and the salvation they talked about
See, how happy we are
If not, let us take our chances
Walk further on our chosen paths
to another salvation on another day

Vijay © 4th December, 2006

Billi

2006-11-07T11:14:00.000-08:00

[Transcreation] Earth

2006-11-02T19:57:00.000-08:00

Two transcreated stanzas from
Bhoomugham by Srikrishnadas Maathoor

Vijay © 3rd November, 2006

My body, a city - K. Satchidanandan

2006-10-31T19:29:00.000-08:00

"My body, a city" is a poem in Malayalam.

The translation being posted here has been done by K. Satchidanandan, the poet himself. A simple search on Google will help you read about this great poet of our times and his works, which have been translated and transcreated across Indian and foreign languages.

My body, a city,
My eyes, its cantonments.
In them the eternal vigil of observant sentries.
A railway station between my ears—
There the unceasing tumult of crowds
that wait for a mate or a prey
and fall asleep, tired:
Folks who always miss their trains,
orphaned thoughts gone astray,
memories lost between the chiming of bells
and whistles of the wagons,
fire-filled dreams that pant and wait
for green signals.

My veins are rivers, noisy with anklets
My nerves, wires that carry music and light
My entrails are streets busy with traffic.

The four chambers of my heart:
one, a prison, black with the solitude of the dead
one, a church, white with the serenity of prayers,
one, a hospital red with the groans of the sick
and the odours of medicines,
one, a courtroom blue with its prolonged trials
and dispassionate judgements.

How shall I describe
the port of my nose
where smells unfold their sails,
the untiring mills of my teeth
that grind the hardest of pains
the market of my tongue
full of noises and flavours
the observatory of my skin that records
the change of seasons in its language of signs,
the garden of my hairs where the sun never rises
the towers of my legs brimming with still dances,
the office of my hands peopled with files and clerks,
the sleepless factories of my gland
and the busy junctions of my joints?

In this city are the cries of birth
and the groans of death,
the temptings of the pimp
and the gospels of the saint,
the bargaining of the merchant
and the detachment of the monk
caged forests and chained springs,
clouds that rain at a touch
and cuckoos concealed in mothers of pearl,
the wounds of departures
and the wonders of arrivals,
the inns of kisses
and the zoos of emotions.

Remember:
When you burn this body
You are burning a city.
Remember:
When you bury this body
You are burying its people.

[Transcreation] Post-revolution times

2006-10-31T19:26:00.000-08:00

Post-revolution times

This title is merely a pointer

to lead you here to understand

post-revolution times

So now let me summarize

The comprehensive history of a revolution

can be slotted in three phases

Since this is important, and fail they will,

to historians, we cannot entrust this task

First, the pre-revolution times

When a feeling creeps in that a revolution is about to happen

It is just around the bend

Leaders convince their followers

In exile and out of it,

they toil to develop martyrs from within the lot

Followers gush with adrenalin pumping in their veins

In the political battle that ensues

dissenting heads and ideologies roll

Catchy revolutionary songs

spread the revolution far across

At the pinnacle of the movement

revolution is unfurled from flag-masts

Exhilarated followers sing in unison

Then, the revolution itself

To understand that they live in revolutionary times,

is not possible for the common folk

Lest they fret at the imminent losses and pitfalls

Intellectuals take on the mantle to explain it to them

The final triumph of a revolution is beautiful, certain

It is for the leaders to convince those

who holds doubts of a revolution’s destiny

Daunting, yet the ultimate duty, I must say

Through speeches and discourses

and if need be, through deeds

duty-bound are the leaders to do so

Our own, if they agree that a revolution is on

much easier would become then, the path ahead

Finally, the post-revolution times

The Revolution has triumphed

and today we have reached-

I say, and friends do lend me your ears

and be attentive-

the post-revolution times

Few may find it hard to believe,

followers may take time to comprehend

Do not lose your patience

for they were all immersed in revolution’s frenzy

If they are slow at it, let them be

They are not accustomed to

workers and leaders leading comfortable lives

Non-believers may increase

Intellectuals may sound dejected

In every polity, they are alike

Bad omens

Let them cringe and bark, but humanity is on an onward surge

To those who made this day happen, my salutations

We succeeded in not letting wealth concentrate in a few hands

What are we to do Mr. Brezhnev, if it now falls into our coffers?

A Malayalam poem by Late Sh. Ayyappa Panicker

Transcreation in English by Vijay © 26th October, 2006

[Transcreation] Highflier

2006-10-31T19:25:00.000-08:00

This is how he justified, eulogized
his rented abode
on the top floor
of a fifty-storied building

Before sun shines
in the eyes of anyone,
I make it play on my lips

With a roll of string
and a paper kite,
I can leak rain from the clouds

In a garbage bag
I capture storms
With ease I capture moonshine
I relish the sounds of central A/C
as if they are the rumble of the waves below

I can see from here, on the moon,
shriveled flags, footsteps
and the angels
who flew off the stories I heard

If I shout at the top of my voice,
from seven skies across,
God sends back
shrill echoes

Even if all these
fail to camouflage my penniless life
in this fact I can take solace
that it is above the head of the rich
that I defecate each day

On a recent visit
to his rural roots
he committed suicide

Uchhasthan – A poem in Malayalam
by Kamruddin Amayam
Transcreation by Vijay © 19th October, 2006

[Poem] Betrayal

2006-10-31T19:21:00.000-08:00

Children of a lesser god?

2006-10-05T11:07:00.000-07:00

The indifference and apathy of the powers-that-be qua those with disabilities is increasing by the day. Today, I was once again shocked to read the news item appearing in the following link.

The HINDU

One, those who are entrusted with public dealing are not educated about the rights available to these special friends of ours. Secondly, when confronted, the officials would in almost all cases be rude and unaccomodating taking shelter under ambiguous circulars and notifications.

I had the unfortunate ocassion of handling such a situation in a case decided last year of a student who had dyslexia had excelled despite the peculiar circumstances he was in. While the Court, having regard to the case, tried its best to persuade the Administration, the Administration was adamant and took umbrage under an insensitive law and policy. The Court's helplessness is apparent from the Judgement.

************************************************************

IN THE HIGH COURT OF DELHI AT NEW DELHI

W.P.(C) 12761/2005

MASTER VENKATESH BHATNAGAR ..... Petitioner
Through Mr.Vijay Nair, Advocate.

versus

GOVT. OF NCT OF DELHI AND OTHERS .... Respondents
Through Ms.Sujata Kashyap, Advocate for
Respondents No.1 to 4.
Mr.Atul Kumar, Advocate for Respondent No.5.

CORAM:
HON'BLE MR. JUSTICE VIKRAMAJIT SEN

O R D E R
11.08.2005

Application was made on behalf of the Petitioner for changing subjects from Social Science to Painting by the School concerned, which request was allowed by the CBSE keeping the Petitioner's circumstances in view.

The Petitioner had appeared in the Common Entrance Test, 2005 and was found meritorious for admission to the Diploma in Computer Engineering. However, at the time when the fees were being deposited, by the Petitioner, his candidature has been cancelled by Respondent No.2, Board of Technical Education, Delhi acting through Respondent No.3, Gobind Ballabh Pant Polytechnic on the grounds that the Petitioner had not studied Social Science as one of his subjects in the Xth Class. The minimum eligibility as contained in the Information Bulletin for Admission to Full Time Diploma Programme in Polytechnics, CET-2005:

"Passed Xth class of 10+2 or Matric or any other exam recognized as equivalent to Xth class exam conducted by the Central Board of Secondary Education (CBSE) or an equivalent recognized board with minimum 45% marks in the aggregate of five subjects securing minimum 33% marks in each of English, Maths, Science (separately in Theory and Practical), Social Science and one additional language (which reflects higher marks)."

Since the Petitioner has not appeared in Social Science at the stage of Class X, his candidature has been cancelled. It has been contended that in the Common Entrance Test there are no questions pertaining to Social Science. The argument that this subject may not be essentially relevant for Computer Engineering is indeed an attractive one. A review by the Respondent may be necessary.

Regrettably, the Petitioner cannot avail the benefits of the Persons with Disabilities (Equal Opportunities, Protection of Rights and Full Participation) Act, 1995 since for reasons which I find inexplicable, only physical disabilities of three kinds are contemplated by that Act. This Court had occasion to observe the possible incongruity in this Statute in the context of a person suffering from heart ailment in Kumar Bharat Prasand Narain Singh Vs. Airport Authority of India, 2005 (5) AD (DELHI) 513.

Parliament may consider whether amendments are called for.

In a case where a mental disorder or disability is being suffered there appears to be no justification to exclude such persons from the meagre 3% reservation for the disabled. This is especially so because of the existence of National Trust for Welfare of Persons with Autism, Cerebral Palsy, Mental Retardation and Multiple Disabilities Rules, 2000 which could possibly bring succour to the Petitioner if the Act is amended. Had the Petitioner been eligible for consideration under the Persons with Disabilities (Equal Opportunities, Protection of Rights and Full Participation) Act, 1995 the impasse in which he find himself may not have transpired at all.

The marks obtained by the Petitioner indicate that he has overcome his affliction. But nevertheless he has been shut out from pursuing a course in which he has already proved his merit. Educators are becoming too bureaucratic.

Unfortunately for the Petitioner, under Article 226 of the Constitution this Court would ordinarily not issue Writs of Mandamus or any other Orders which would have the effect of re-writing norms which have been spelt out well in advance by the Respondents concerned. Therefore, although the Petitioner is entitled to special consideration, which he has not received at the hands of the Board of Technical Education, Delhi which has obdurately stuck to its minimum eligibility norms and thus no relief can be granted to the Petitioner.

The Writ Petition is disposed of in these terms.

Sd/-
VIKRAMAJIT SEN, J
AUGUST 11, 2005
The Judgement

A thought

2006-09-24T22:14:00.000-07:00

Not even specks on this earth, they are.
Yet, as you glide through effortlessly
with feet two-inches above the ground,
give it a thought.
Your imaginary worlds,
how expansive they would look
if a map you scale?

Vijay © 25th September, 2006
(A thought inspired by Sarju’s poem
In Malayalam “Manorajyangalude bhoopadam”)

Satan's Dove

2006-09-18T00:42:00.000-07:00

Picked up by the neck
thrown out of the window
left to fate, to die
away from infant eyes
Perhaps
my worm-ridden wounds
were an unbearable sight
or cajoled by compassion
I was set free

Splashed upon the sky,
into a million drops scattered
I then dripped into the clouds
with patience by my side
Hidden in the drops
then descended with the rains
When monsoons played havoc
I spread my tentacles
My seeds I embedded
in trees, men and beasts

When finally they came
to snuff the life out of me
I was nowhere to be found
Yet, unknown to them
in the darkness that prevailed
my eyes which lie in wait,
from every nook, they gleamed

Vijay © 18th September, 2006

[Transcreation] Walking across

2006-09-14T17:51:00.000-07:00

[Transcreation] Sleepless nights

2006-09-07T20:56:00.000-07:00

[Verse] Curse of the wise

2006-09-02T17:01:00.000-07:00

Man is the measure of all things-
Of things which are,
that they are so,
Of things which are not,
that they are not.

Thus spoke Protogoras
Absorbed in Sophism, but
in oligarchy, orthoepia
and agnosticism lost

We brew, we sip, swivel around
Ponder, fight and become wise
Two and a half millenniums flip back
He smiles as we prove him right

Vijay © 3rd September, 2006

Protagoras
Orthoepeia
Oligarchy
Sophism
Agnosticism

[Transcreation] Divinity, Relativity

2006-08-27T20:17:00.000-07:00

From firm heights
to plunge into depths
waits a rock, with bated breath,
at the edge of a cliff

Impatient
to reach out from below,
readies a ripe vine

Mayhap to save itself
from the flood waters,
to a blade of grass
clings a beetle

Inert, motionless

Perhaps, dead

In Malayalam by P.N. Govindanunni
Transcreation: Vijay © 27th August, 2006

[Transcreation] Sketching Gandhi

2006-08-25T20:53:00.000-07:00

Vande Mataram - To sing or not to sing

2006-08-24T20:04:00.000-07:00

A recent happening, more clearly described the following news items has prompted me to pen down my thoughts here:

INDIAN EXPRESS

and

TIMES OF INDIA

There should be more to this controversy than what meets the eye. Theologists and Fundamental Religious practitioners would always look at the basics and hard-etched rules that are being followed over the years. It is quite difficult for a handful of liberals to suddenly change the way centuries of belief paves the way for the fundamentals.

Having said that, here is the translation of Vande Mataram by Sri Aurobindo, which is considered as the most authentic translation to date:

Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
bright with orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving Mother of might,
Mother free.

Glory of moonlight dreams,
Over thy branches and lordly streams,
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I bow.

Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands
When the sword flesh out in the seventy million hands
And seventy million voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call Mother and Lord!
Though who savest, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foeman drove
Back from plain and Sea
And shook herself free.

Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou art heart, our soul, our breath
Though art love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nervs the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.

Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
With her hands that strike and her
swords of sheen,
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
And the Muse a hundred-toned,
Pure and perfect without peer,
Mother lend thine ear,
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleems,
Dark of hue O candid-fair

In thy soul, with jewelled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Lovilest of all earthly lands,
Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mother, mother mine!
Mother sweet, I bow to thee,
Mother great and free!

Now check out the highlighted portions. While I am all for compassion towards other faiths, "compassion" should not mean that I would be made to display compassion forcibly. In my honest opinion, Muslims cannot be forced to sing Vande mataram.

Please check out one blog entry which may give you some more insight:
Vande mataram and Muslims

Now, I bring you back to the emphasised words.

What do "Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen," suggest? Should any of us Indians be singing this at all??

From the time Mohd. Ali was the President of Indian National Congress and had objected to this song being sung at its national conventions, this controversy has refised to die down.
Check out: About Vande mataram

My whole point is, why should anybody be forced to sing anything? Even a national song? Patriotism and love for one's country cannot be imposed. It should come from within. There cannot be a benchmark for patriotism. We all do our little bits for the country in whatever way we can (Be it Hindus or Muslims or follower of any other faith). Singing or refusing to sing "a" particular song, accepted by the majority cannot make the minority non-patriotic.

Is Vande Mataram anti-Islamic?

No, Vande Mataram is not anti-islamic. It is non-islamic.

However, the case being canvassed by the Imams is that singing this song (which is akin to worshipping an idol or an entity other than Allah) is blasphemous. Let us not take this discussion on a tangent.

Today, Religion separates us and defines our territories. Whatever the Religion or the sacred texts might have postulated, today we look and percieve another's faith with intolerance. That is the root cause of even this controversy.

We cannot walk on the thin blade of secularism without wounding our feet. Be that as it may, secularism means freedom to practice one's own relegion. What the imams say is also what the majority follow today. Assuming that the Imam's intrepretation of the issue is faulty, the need for change should come from within the Islamic community. Till then, the non-muslims may have to bear with this.

The same theory would apply to the overt diktats of Hindu Fundamentalists. Who could stop them from vandalism and harassing couples on Valentine day? Who could stop them from calling for Muslim blood during riots? Even for those holding the flag of Christianity high, who stops missionaries from converting for money?

Hard questions.

These isolated incidents are merely there to incite egos and frenzy, everytime we find peace. Take it just as that.

I would sing Vande mataram to my heart's content because there is an adrenalin-rush everytime I sing it. I don't consider Rahim, my friend, as non-patriotic just because he doesn't sing it. I can still feel and see his angst and love for the country when the nation is in dire straits. Why should I bother him at all?

How many of us stand up in rapt attention today when the National Anthem plays. Ask your self honestly. Assume one does and one doesnt. Does that make one less patriotic than the other?

Now let me come to what "I" think:

We are driven by many forces. Like the cliched saying that "Pyaar se pait nahii bhartaa" ....waise hii....."Patriotism se bhi pait nahi bhartaa".

If I am a patriot, I dont have to shout from the rooftops or even let anyone know that I am. I have it inside me and I know that and that is what matters. Do you think that if Muslims are forcefully made to sing Vandemataram, they would turn patriots if they are not already? Do you think others who sing Vandemataram at the top of their voice are patriots?

In the times when espionage and deserters are growing in the ranks, dont you think that "imposition of forcible singing of Vande Mataram" is merely a useless issue to discuss??

Now look at something more interesting.

Article 28(3) of our Constitution states:

28. Freedom as to attendance at religious instruction or religious worship in certain educational institutions.—
(1) xxxxxxxx
(2) xxxxxxxxx
(3) No person attending any educational institution recognised by the State or receiving aid out of State funds shall be required to take part in any religious instruction that may be imparted in such institution or to attend any religious worship that may be conducted in such institution or in any premises attached thereto unless such person or, if such person is a minor, his guardian has given his consent thereto.

Very simple, unambiguous and straightforward, nothing more, nothing less.
No person in any educational institution State run or aided shall be required to take part in or to attend any religious worship that may be conducted in such institution unless such person or, if such person is a minor, his guardian has given his consent thereto.

Now, read Section 3 of the Prevention of Insults to National Honour Act, 1971

3. Prevention of singing of National Anthem:
Whoever intentionally prevents the singing of the Indian National Anthem or causes disturbances to any assembly engaged in such singing shall be punished with imprisonment for a term, which may extend to three years, or with fine, or with both.

These are the only provisions in laws related to what we are discussing here.

Vande mataram is a National song and not the National Anthem so as to be even touched by Section 3 of the Prevention of Insults to National Honour Act, 1971. There is no dispute as to the fact that Hindu deities are liberally mentioned in the song and that Islam per-se prohibits worship at temples and of idols and by implication, rendition of such a song. Those who interpret Islam have said that the song should not be sung. Who could now sit in judgment against the same?

If tomorrow, eating beef on a National day is made mandatory by the Government for Indians, would Hindus eat beef just to display patriotism?

Hypothetical, but nevertheless a question.

We must not forget that while Pakistan is an Islamic State, India is not a Hindu State. We have evolved over the years since independence. We have seen and experienced that the dreams of the visionaries who laid the foundation stone of the country were quite optimistic and various unforseen factors have kept such dreams and visions confined to books.

We have had umpteen amendments to the Constitution, which only goes to prove that we are open to changes as a Society, where the need so arises.

I believe that many of the decisions immediately post independence were taken in a haste and by a group of leaders who had all the say in the matter. The lesser connected Junta had no way of expressing their opinion. (Vande mataram as I said, was not a unanimous choice, having faced protest much prior to Independence).

The point I am bringing you to is, now that we have evolved as a debating and thinking nation, where at least an endeavour is made to gather and assimilate public opinion, we should also explore the option of looking at an alternative for Vande mataram, which every community would identify with and join the chorus when sung.

It may be too wishful a thought but it is not Utopian.

Either we change to accomodate all or we banish all. The latter is impossible and not adviced either. The only solution is change. We have to shed age-old inhibitions and beliefs, which are merely dead corpses now. It has to be done by all. Intolerance is rampant in all communities. It is because the moderates consider silence to be divine, that extermists and fundamentalists have a field day. Imagine when the silent majority of moderates stand up, where could the funadementalists be running for cover? Nowhere!!!

Raman and Krishnan

2006-08-23T20:50:00.000-07:00

I.

They are my friends of the bygone years, Raman and Krishnan. Like my eyes, twins.

When Raman hurt himself while playing outside, inside, in the midst of Geography class, Krishnan felt his pain. Krishnan’s dilemma in the examination hall, of being lost without answers, was felt by Raman too, outside.

When Krishnan stole four annas, broke the chain of a rented cycle, touched “there” while bathing and felt unhappy about the salt less porridge every morning, Raman’s sixth sense would know. Raman whispered about them in my right ear and Krishnan in my left.

When on my maiden journey to Bombay, I boarded a train; I asked Raman “Will you outshine Krishnan in the exams this year?”

II.

Krishnan was stacking the list of local Hindus after Muslims had trespassed and taken possession of the office of Vishwa Hindu Parishad. There, from that list, he came to know that Raman had joined the Khadi-clad men. Ponnani was a hotbed of revolution then, and the reasons behind Raman’s constant visits to Ponnani were now revealed on Krishnan.

In Bombay, on the third day, I received a letter from Krishnan.

“Chacko, if you listen carefully, there is a strange attraction in the Azaan calls from a mosque.”

III.

Their mother expired.

Since then, Krishnan tends the kitchen and Raman took up writing.

Of smoked eyes, burnt souls, hearths transforming into Nuclear Reactors, the countries within a country, about the languages within a language, about homes within homes, about silences within silence, Raman wrote, wrote and wrote, not for once venturing into the kitchen.

Krishnan, on the other hand, enlightened me about the peculiarities and differences between the Azaan calls in Arabia, Aligarh and Malabar. On my marriage he gifted me “A road to Mecca” by Muhammad Asad.

IV.

After the Matriculation, three of us have never sat together.

On my visits back home, both Raman and I would be sitting beside the mountain stream guzzling beer and talking about Krishnan or Krishnan and I would be sitting below the huge Banyan in front of the temple square, smoking and talking of Raman.

One night, at the beach, I kept my hands on Raman’s shoulders and looked at the moon.

“How lonely and incomplete” I said.

As if on cue, Raman started telling me about how Krishnan would be sitting on the balcony of his house and looking at the same moon that very minute.

V.

In the neighborhood, a Marathi had killed his wife and then hanged himself. I was about to leave for the funeral when the news came.

Raman had killed Krishnan.

Suddenly, India was no more my country. Mumbai disowned me. Malayalam drowned me in its Tsunami.

VI.

What was it all about?

Who killed whom? Did a Muslim kill a Hindu, the owner kill his servant, the victor kill the vanquished?

Did a brother kill another?

Did Blood spill itself?

From inside the lockup, Raman looked at me and as if to someone standing beyond me, said, “We used to spy on each other. We lived on deceptions.”

********************************

Vijay ©

P.S:
Hugely inspired by a poem in Malayalam
by P.N. Gopikrishnan

[Transcreation] Eligy for an earthworm

2006-08-21T20:42:00.000-07:00

[Translation] Divorce - The day before

2006-08-08T04:09:00.000-07:00

Panchhi

2006-08-03T21:01:00.000-07:00

Reach

2006-08-01T00:51:00.000-07:00

[Photothought] Pankhh - Wings

2006-07-31T21:14:00.000-07:00

[Translation] Saree

2006-07-29T02:51:00.000-07:00

[Translation] Album

2006-07-29T02:49:00.000-07:00

I

2006-07-26T22:00:00.000-07:00

Harithakam and me

2006-07-25T20:28:00.000-07:00

harithakam.com/ is a boon for Malayalees (as opposed to Keralaites - since I would only call those who can read, write and speak Malayalam as Malayalees), who stay miles away from their land of birth or lineage.

The site hosts well-known, lesser-known and amateur poets and their poetry. You can get to read some very very good creations on this site. There are also critical appraisals of some popular poetry works. In one of sojourns here, I was engulfed by this urge to translate and transcreate Malayalam Poetry to English. Having read Malayalam till the eighth grade and having kept in touch with the language over the years, through reading, theatre, films, etc., I thought I should better give it a try.

Though I had done some translation and transcreation from Hindi/Urdu to English and vice-versa, I found it quite a taxing and draining effort doing the same from Malayalam to English. However, I am glad I attempted.

Now, I am privileged to have some of my translations/transcreations uploaded on Harithakam.

You can read them here: ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS

Whither?

2006-07-20T06:11:00.000-07:00

Wait

2006-07-18T23:18:00.000-07:00

For you, Mumbai

2006-07-12T12:21:00.000-07:00

Seven little holes, your gift
Pitch octave, seven seconds
Life flows, harmony grows
My city plays the flute again

Vijay © 12th July, 2006

[Verse] Endless

2006-07-10T11:07:00.000-07:00

Inside me
lives a demon.
Through sleepless nights
I hear him whine.
I wonder,
What if I let him out?

Plugging all exits of my mind
in retrospect, I search
for a reason, a face
a moment, a word—
but find none.

Then I hear
that whimper again.

Vijay (c) 11th July, 2006

[Verse] Ageless

2006-07-07T02:11:00.000-07:00

The caress of morning sun
shimmers in her kohl-lined eyes
and wind-teased playful hair strands
like the back-water canals, ferry hope
Unmindful of over-crowded steamers’ hoots
conch invocations and azaan* calls vie for attention
Weather-beaten Synagogues peek
through closely stacked Churches
Coconut masts sway to panchavaadyam*
Weary naval ships dock in her lap
In her silhouette,
dissolve Chinese fishing-nets
and the sky-scrapers along the bay
Waves splash, prostrate at her feet
in deference, in obeisance
She defies age. The ageless beauty,
the Queen of the Arabian Sea

Vijay © 7th July, 2006

*azaan - Call for Namaaz
*Panchavaadyam - A musical ensemble mainly comprising of precussion instruments.

[Poem] Business

2006-07-06T06:02:00.000-07:00

Your death is my business
I thrive on the dead
You are no more, they grieve
But that’s my butter and bread

‘fore the soil on your grave dries
‘fore the embers of your pyre die
I retrieve all that you left behind
with a probing keen eye

I care not what you bequeathed
and to whom has the bounty gone
you may wonder what I do
and on which side am I on

I look for in your remains
what you ever did by choice
or were compelled to carry out
by force or by a divine voice

I gather one and all
and string them in a thread
Remember, I just told you
It’s my butter, it’s my bread

They paid him through their nose
when “Death at my doorstep”, he wrote
But the nobody that I am
My obituaries, they don’t quote

Vijay © 5th July, 2006

P.S. Due apologies to Khushwant Singh-
The author of “Death at my doorsteps”

[Verse] Silent thoughts

2006-06-30T09:56:00.000-07:00

Spondylitis
A tryst with pain
Like estranged spouses
meeting again
at a social do

Migraine
The splitting ache
Like forgotten grouses
for argument’s sake,
revived again

Nausea
Uncertain spells
of weighing words
before blurting them out
or holding them in

Fever
Beyond Fahrenheit
Like biased frenzies
and blinded faith
refusing to die down

Death
An end to it all
Like the vacuum
before the vagaries of strife
and the silence later

Vijay © 30th June, 2006

[Poem] Resonance

2006-06-29T13:53:00.000-07:00

I wish to write something else
a ballad or even a sonnet would do
and I want it to play on your lips,
long enough for it to stifle you

I wish to find a different muse
A doppelganger to fit the bill
Your ghosts, I shall exorcise
aching memories I shall kill

I wish to dip my pen elsewhere
to write now, with a different ink
Innocent and naïve as it may seem
full of venom to make you stink

I wish to paint your room with blood
You once said, it’s crimson you like
I wish for you then to cringe and cry
Writhe in pain till you feel alike

At last, I wish to dissolve in the winds,
to make you dread that I am around
Each moment, I want you to fear
Even that harmless whisper of a sound

Vijay © 28th June, 2006

[Verse] Infidelity

2006-06-25T21:05:00.000-07:00

My hand slides down
your curvaceous contours
and grasps the left-over signs
of fat you felt you had burnt
Parted lips await a ritual
For a moment far, yet so near

Entwined we dance the night away,
your eyes looking for tell tale signs,
mine, in a mood to oblige, but later
Rising heartbeats,
steal once in a while a glance at the clock
for a moment far, yet so near

The marauder who made your life hell
is sleeping somewhere in somebody’s arms
A lost hope I so much nurtured
abandoned its nest, to make a different abode
We wait for night to bloom into its youth
For a moment far, yet so near

Oh! How we yearn,
to live a lifetime in a night.

Vijay © 25th June, 2006

KJ Subz rocks Delhi with Karaoke

2006-06-23T19:33:00.000-07:00

KJ is a genius. He makes you forget that you have never sung in your life. The New Delhi gigs are all well attended by friends and I feel so much at home. This is a collage of photographs (courtsey KJ) which have been compiled into a video format. Hope you like this experiment.

[Verse] Shards

2006-06-16T06:49:00.000-07:00

Ceremoniously arrives the night
The beast tip-toes into my space
Denuding me with one tug
slithers down my space,
to invade my self
I grope in the dark
for any lost signs of love
Lost was lost, forever. I realize.

Spent, he leaves

An incomplete moment
reeking of alcohol and tobacco
traces left-over shards
of a silhouette dissolving into the dark

Thirst of an unquenched desire
twists and turns on the bed.

Vijay © 16th June, 2006

Let them be

2006-06-16T00:10:00.000-07:00

Mask

2006-06-15T03:30:00.000-07:00

Strange game

2006-06-13T23:45:00.000-07:00

Futile

2006-06-12T04:23:00.000-07:00

The building and the vans standing outside were all white. The signboards were all in red. The smell of disinfectants ate into my senses as I walked past the reception of the multi-specialty hospital. Before making my way to the lift, I glanced at the signboards.

INTENSIVE CARE UNIT
5th Floor

I took out a piece of paper and read the details once again. Ward number one, Bed number twelve.

The lift buzzed its way up to the 5th Floor. As soon as the automated doors opened, I stepped onto the floor. The strong smell of disinfectants once again came swarming in one me. A nurse was walking down from across the aisle. She gave me a quizzing smile.

“Which side is Ward one? I have a friend, Akhtar……”

It didn’t take much time for her to remember.

“Oh, the Bed number twelve, walk to the end of the corridor and turn left.”

I thanked her and made my way towards the ward. I wondered how humans become numbers once in a while. In different circumstances different numbers.

The ward came in sight. From behind the large glass partition, I could see bed number twelve situated right in the middle of the room. There he is, on the bed, inert, his body attached to innumerable medical equipments. The hollow silence of the ward was being intermittently breached by the beeps from the machines.
.
Till a few days back, he was a lively young man, smoking, drinking, partying, pulling a fast one or two on his friends, like everyone his age does. Today, on that bed, living on borrowed time, he is merely a smashed heap of human flesh, breathing in spurts. Dead below the waist, with a head that cannot move, I could sense that a mind still alert registered my presence.

As I looked at him, my mind flooded with the past. Those moments, the jokes that he cracked, the hearts that he touched, the canteen group escapades, all came whizzing in, as though filling up the vacuum created by the sight of him.

He could see my eyes going moist. His hand moved, commanding me to sit by his side.
I held his hand and we looked into each others eyes. Seconds, minutes passed. I could not hold my sight, a drop or two found their way out. I could feel the futility of his being.

I wanted so much to leave and run as far as I could from the reality which lay besides me. I stood up and looked at him. He smiled. Did he? Was it merely a mirage created by my mind?
Quickly, I turned my back in order to leave. It is then that I felt a pull on my sleeve. It was his hand. I turned back and looked at him.

He spoke and his words were like a thousand needles being thrust into my body.

“Friend, can you tell them? Do something, please. I want to die!!!”

Vijay © 12th June, 2006

P.S: Re-written from a poem I had penned in February of last year. My recent experiences are making me look into this issue once again.

dasht-e-tanhaai

2006-06-10T00:09:00.000-07:00

While few find solace in solitude and loneliness, others despise being left alone.

dasht-e-tanhaai by Faiz Ahmed Faiz is a beautiful creation bringing out the pathos of solitude.

I am posting the original nazm and a translation by AYESHA KALJUVEE. Believe me, one could not have translated the nazm any better.

I have also created a small video using some pictures taken out from the Internet. In the background plays the nazm, so beautifully sung by Iqbal Bano, widely known as the voice of Faiz, since he remained incarcerated under the Military regime. Don’t miss the rendition for your life. Here is the video:

http://vijaynair.buzznet.com/user/video/play/23128/

dasht-e-tanhaai meiN,
ai jaan-e-jahaaN, larzaaN haiN
teri awaaz ke saaye
tere honThoN ke saraab

dasht-e-tanhaai meiN
duuri ke Khas-o-Khaak talei
Khil rahe haiN tere pehluu ke samaN auR gulaab

uTh rahii hai kahiiN quRbat se
teri saaNs ki aaNch
apni Khushbuu meiN sulagtii hui
maddham maddham

duur ufaq paR chamaktii hui
qatra qatra
giR rahii hai terii dildaaR nazaR kii shabnam

iss qadaR pyaaR se hai jaan-e-jahaaN raKhaa hai
dil ke ruKhsaaR pe
iss waqt teri yaad ne haath
yuuN gumaaN hota hai
gaRche hai abhi subah-e-firaaq
Dhal gayaa hijR ka din
aa bhi gayii vasl ki raat

===================================================

In the desert of my solitude, oh love of my life, quiver
the shadows of your voice,
the mirage of your lips

In the desert of my solitude,
beneath the dust and ashes of distance
bloom the jasmines and roses of your proximity

From somewhere very close,
rises the warmth of your breath
smoldering in its own aroma,
slowly, bit by bit.

Far away, across the horizon, glistens
drop by drop
the falling dew of your beguiling glance

With such tenderness, O love of my life,
on the cheek of my heart,
has your memory placed its hand right now
that it looks as if
(though it's still the dawn of adieu)
the sun of separation has set
and the night of union has arrived.

[Trascreation] A different world

2006-06-06T21:36:00.000-07:00