Waiting for the rains

At the sacred space by the temple, on a platform of red bricks,
The saffron-clad priest chanted in high tones, the ancient prayers for rain,
Amidst the blazing summers, to the Gods of the sky and the wind,
Where the green fields of yesterdays have become parched,
Dried up devoid of any trace of life,
While people draped in earth-coloured cottons chanted,
With the sun scorching their wheat-coloured skins.

Children played by the dried up temple pond,
Thinking of the days where they splashed in the cool water,
Sat idly in the cool recesses of the rocks,
Or chattering with the juice of ripe mangoes
Oozing on their hands and faces.

The ancient chanting went on incessantly, in a land of purity,
Where none could wash or bathe except in the muddy pond waters,
The holy fires blazed along with the hot afternoons,
When none could sleep, for the heat numbed and killed,

Oh you rain; much awaited, the boon of heavens,
That brings joy to the earth, wealth to its people,
Oh you rain, come with thunder and lightning,
And soak our brown skins with delight,
Oh rain, the fulfillment of forecasts and incessant prayers,
I invoke you in the names of the barren earth,
The dried up rivers and lakes, the animals and birds,
The silent trees and the people on earth.

You end the blazing afternoons of summer heat,
With the first drops of summer rain,
You set the warm smell of earth rising,
And bedeck trees with jewels like brides,
From furnace hot afternoons to nights of restless pace.
For you, incense is burnt and prayers chanted,
For you, the comforter in candent days,
Oh rain, come and give us comfort, the priest sang.

On the third day of endless repentance and prayers,
Grey and white dappled clouds rose to silhouette the sky,
With hints of a sudden outburst,
The entire city rejoiced, the wait is over,
Days of drought are finally over,
With bolts of thunder and lightning,
The soft rain slushed over the crowd,
Who received in open hands stretched to skies
What the heavens granted as comfort
From the scorching heat of Indian summer.

The rain fell over the blazing holy fire,
With the priest and the crowd soaked in the rain,
And the beaming children screamed at the ripples,
Forming on the muddy waters of the temple pond.

Barsaat

Rain has been a very interesting theme in literature and multimedia. There have been plenty of love-songs with rain in the background and the heroines in the focus or with the lyrics that deal with an emotional downpour. In Half Girlfriend, one of the recently released films, there is a song Baarish in which the heroine steps out spontaneously into the rain. May be because of the summer heat,  I find myself humming a few of my favourite rain songs:

1. Mausam : This song  by Mehnaz has been a favourite back from the Channel V and MTV watching days, when the first thing on the mind after coming back from college was to listen to the latest songs. This song is about a girl who is on a  train journey  to her hometown  and the memories she has about her lover. 
2. Barsaat: This slow number by Adnan Sami tells what it wants to tell the beloved. The longing to have someone you love next you when it rains, is beautifully expressed in this song taken from the album Kabhi to Nazar Milao (which from the trivia encylopedia starred a Mrs. India).
3. Aaoge Jab Tum: This song from Jab We Met does not have rain in the backdrop  but deals with unrequited love and the longing for the loved one to return.
4.  Bhoondon se baaatein: This song from Thakshak has a beautiful Tabu dressed in royal blue dancing in the rain. The lyrics explain what the rain is and how she wants to talk to the raindrops. 
5. Sawan Barse: This song from Dahek has Sonali Bendre and Akshay who are getting ready to meet each other and the rain comes as an obstacle in a busy city of  Mumbai. 
6.  Barso Re:  This song from Guru was a surprise with a svelte Aiswarya dancing like a peacock with the rains. 
7. Ab Ke Sawan: Set in the background of a Bengali community, this song by Shubha Mudgal celebrates love and longing across the different age groups. 
8. Hum Tum:  This song is one that brings in a feeling of nostalgia with the various fantasies that plays in the mind of the heroine. 
9. Tip Tip Barsa pani: I think the right name for a hot song was a sizzler  in the 90s and it does not surprise the viewer in the least. However, a recent version by Neha Kakkar is a beautiful rendition.
10.  Sawan Aaya Hai: This song from a completely ridiculous film Creature is about the season of monsoon. Mohabbat barsa dena tu, sawan aaya hai!

Rain

It was a day taken out of the movies- the rain, coffee and us. We had to get back to work and on an impulse, we walked in the rain. There was a couple ahead of us, with the woman covering the man’s head with the pallu of her sari. This made us laugh and I think what I thought was that my flimsy dupatta was not enough to cover you. 

I don’t think there was a magical day like that one and I couldn’t sleep a wink that night because of my new-found knowledge that I had fallen in love with you.I tried talking to you but the words did not come out and I couldn’t say anything meaningful to you. Now, looking back what I feel is that this would have ended that day had I taken some courage to say what I wanted. 

But what always happened was that I knew that we came from two different worlds of understanding and spoke in a common language only when it was necessary. The rest was all my making, an imaginary world where I was rejected and where I wrote words after words about you. What remains of a walk in the summer rain are some memories and so many words scattered across endless pages. Though these sound so immature and childish, these words were my way to get out of a habit of worshipping you like a God.

The Unsent Letters

The Unsent Letters

The Unsent Letters

Spring

Fantasy

It is out of years of despair and longing to escape that this heart learnt how to give up a game even before it has really started. When the dance begins, the accumulated scars and lacks hurt and choke; they loom over what this heart really wants.

Yet the dream still remains to break free, to be one's self and not a definition, to fly out of the mazes created by the self and by others; to run deep into the heavy snow wearing the warmth of your smile around me.

This heart has always known how to be a rogue, vagabond and cheat; it has evaded its responsibilities and flown away every single time to dwell in imaginary worlds where the too bright sun can no longer burn its wings.

But this time, it needs to have enough cunning to throw pixie dust in every wandering eye, just to hold your hand and ride out on a moonlit night with you.

Twinflames

Holiday

She was already late judging by the sunlight falling on her face. Her eyes were hurting and when she checked the time, it was 7. 

These nights of work were upsetting her biological clock. But somehow she loved her deadlines and the fun in finishing work just before the stipulated time. 

She got up, washed her face and thought of a perfectly finished task was there in her mind but she might have to run it again for small errors. 

While brushing her teeth, she thought of the different options before her for breakfast. 
There were some pleasant smells coming from the kitchen. It might from from the house next door. 

In the kitchen, Akash was frying eggs and toasting bread. The whole kitchen looked a mess but on the table were placed two cups of steaming black coffee.

This was kind of a surprise and she asked,“Do you want me to do anything?”
“No, you just relax and read your newspaper”. 
“What do you want- butter or jam on your bread?”

She went close to him, put her arms around him and kissed his right ear and said  "Thank you!"

World Book Day

Earth Day

Earth, Teach Me an Ute Prayer 

Earth teach me quiet ~ as the grasses are still with new light.

Earth teach me suffering ~ as old stones suffer with memory.

Earth teach me humility ~ as blossoms are humble with beginning.

Earth teach me caring ~ as mothers nurture their young.

Earth teach me courage ~ as the tree that stands alone.

Earth teach me limitation ~ as the ant that crawls on the ground.

Earth teach me freedom ~ as the eagle that soars in the sky.

Earth teach me acceptance ~ as the leaves that die each fall.

Earth teach me renewal ~ as the seed that rises in the spring.

Earth teach me to forget myself ~ as melted snow forgets its life.

Earth teach me to remember kindness ~ as dry fields weep with rain.

Diary Excerpt of John Keats

31^st October 1819

It must be three hours past midnight and though I have been trying hard to sleep, I am wide awake as I am so excited and so possessed by a writing spree that I decided to get up from my bed and write by the light of this burning candle. For today is no ordinary day but my twenty fourth birthday and I find that I am too tired to write yet too excited to sleep. I have no other option but to get up from my bed and pour my thoughts into the blank sheets of paper before me. This has been my habit since my young days when I fell in love with the realms of imagination created by the pens of great writers such as Horace, Spenser, Dryden, Pope, Gray and Collins. I have tried my best to create a world of beauty like they have done though how much I have succeeded as a writer only my posterity can answer. For when this mortal body perishes and nothing will be left behind to say that such a spirit lived and died, my poetry would speak for me to the rest of the world.

I am too excited tonight that I cannot sleep a wink for my thoughts begin and end with my beautiful minx Fanny. Before I met her, I was just a plain young lad contented with solitude and the beauty of this natural world. The verses that I wrote extolled the virtues of a solitary life. However, the moment I saw her, my heart was seized with love and I experienced its beauty as sung by the poets. From the very first week at the house of Mr. Dilke, I realised to my surprise that my life was full of longing to be in her sweet presence and this foolish heart had become an absolute slave to her. Though she was stubborn and distant at first, later she became friendly with me when I discussed books with her. I love the way she wins arguments with me and her love is like opium to my miserable life.

For my life has always been a mixture of joys and sorrows with sorrows dominating the balance. I was miserable from an early age as my parents died quite early. The last year has been troublesome with Tom’s sickness and his untimely death. When I look back upon this last year, I think how Fanny has been a constant support to me through my personal troubles. If it were not or her, I would have died of grief! It was this last year that she turned from a beautiful minx to my only love and her sweet letters are on my table talking of her loyal love. For me, she is like a goddess, full of perfections and sweetness, to be remembered constantly as a source of loyalty and affection. Her presence in life helped me tide over the grief of Tom’s death and it inspired to compose some of the poems that I have scribbled this year. Sometimes, I wonder if I can whisk her away on a beautiful winter night like Porphyro does his Madeline and live with her till we turn old and bent.

I was reading Spenser last night and like always I want to write like him. His imagination is so powerful that he can paint pictures with words and I still remember my twenty second year when I first read him after borrowing Clarke’s copy of the Faerie Queen. I was just glancing through his copy, when I was struck by the loveliness of the diction and the images that went with it. I begged him to lend me his copy to read. That night, I was like a young horse that tasted the charms of a spring meadow. Just like the flower draws its nourishment from the soil that surrounds it, a good writer must be inspired by beautiful poetry.  When thinking of the art of poetry, one must draw inspiration from the works of great poets and create worlds of beauty where a stranger can inhabit with wonder. Writing poetry has to be natural; for one does not write for the sake of fame but because one is inspired to create a world of beauty through words. Every reader must create a beautiful world of his own so that one is guarded against the miseries of daily life that can turn the spirit weary.

It is much later that I became acquainted with the Greek epics through Chapman’s translation. Clarke recommended the book and I knew that I had to read it for his recommendations are always worthy of reading. My perspective of the world has never been the same since then as I have seen this world of delight from the ancient times. For me, the natural world is a land of comfort that can experienced through the five senses- touch, sight, hearing, smell and taste. This Earth that we inhabit is so full of mysteries and it beckons man to indulge in the pleasures that it offers. Its seasons are a delight -full of sights, smells and sounds that are inviting to me. I remember these gifts to the senses with pleasure, just like a night spent amid the intoxicating smells of flowering plants and try to recreate them with words when I sit down to write. Often, when I sit and dream, I recall the smells of ripening fruits in autumn or the glorious tints of the setting sun or the beautiful song of the nightingale and I am pleased that I have a power with words that I can bring these pictures alive to my readers as well. When I first started writing, I was just a lover of beauty but with time I have learnt that art needs to be about human sorrows and suffering too. Like a drop of water to the wearied traveller, poetry should offer solace to the humans worn out by the daily toils of life.

What worries me is whether I will live to realise my dreams as I have the same illness that my mother and Tom had. During my walks, I have been thinking seriously death. What if I were to die like my mother and Tom, sick with tuberculosis? Usually my thoughts are fully occupied by my lovely Fanny and the place she holds as a goddess in my religion of love. But in the last few days, I am preoccupied with the end of this life. How will that end come? I ask myself as my future stares me in my face and though I am fully conscious of the beauty of nature around me, my mind is beset with gloom as I wonder what will happen to Fanny!  For the last few days, I am feeling tired after a few minutes of exertion. From the signs of it, my hour of death approaches fast and I hope that I will remain brave till the last and not succumb to the despair that overpowers one when struck with the possibility of impending death. Will my words survive my death and live forever?

 

 

Book Donation Drive

Make Everyday Earth Day

Sacred Spaces

In times of despair and darkness, your soul lingers on a favourite memory for a second and without knowing how or why, there is shift in thinking that realign you to the present. This memory could be a place near the River Green, where you grew up or could be the verdant campus where you studied or your favourite space in your house.

The spaces you love, the view that your balcony offers, your favourite reading space in the drawing room or the serene space you have made for your gods-all become memories to be visited in the mind's eye.

However, my favourite space was my armchair from where I visited many imaginary lands and learnt the magic of written words. The view that this room offered was lovely, with the blue skies and the sight of tall buildings etched across. During the rains, this is the space from where I sang my favourite songs.

Yet my love, you are my favourite sacred space, the one I visit every day, whenever I think of our days of togetherness, the one secret haven where I rest when in strife and where my soul might come back when the body loses its breath. 

You are that sacred space that I will inhabit in the realms of dreams where the bonds of this world don't matter any longer. 

The Unsent Letters

Sacred Literature of the World: Chosen for Daily Meditation

Last week on my library hunt, I came across an amazing book, a treasure in fact. Sacred Literature of the World: Chosen for Daily Meditation by Eknath Easwaran. The book complies spiritual writing from different traditions, countries, religions and scriptures such as Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim and Native American. The book is a guide to meditation as well as a collection of wonderful food for the soul.

Happiness

An evening

In the midst of this summer tedium,we meet again,
In the same old park where we used to sit around, 
Reading books and chatting for hours altogether, 
While the ancient tabeubia trees bore us witness. 

Once again, the carpet of pink blossoms is made, 
For you and me to sit and doodle with lifelessons-
The serious thoughts about the angst of this life , 
The trivial thoughts about the colours in the world. 

You are a strong shoulder that I had let go earlier, 
Your few words fill me with so much of happiness, 
I am the mighty wordsmith in whom you believe, 
The one who can conjure up new worlds in verse.

You and I talk of the serious and trivial meet again, 
In our old hang-out under the same ancient trees.