My posts on Muse India-- Kolaveri

Kolaveri or killer rage

The full scale rage sets in,

Blood boils and skin seethes;

Full scale hate in oneself—

Wish to hit at something.

Eager to satisfy

Motive just half aware,

Galore media vents,

Impulse: the route of pulse.

Targets lame nondescript –

Avoidable burden;

Salt and pepper tasty,

No room for heart and mind.

Heady cocktails mix well,

Hugged emotion nasty,

A disguised enemy,

Shows bearer one’s own grave –

Weary cloak closes with lid.

Haiku

(Japanese poem of 3 lines with a seasonal word reflecting human element in nature- with less than 17 syllables in 3 lines and climactic last line)

spring…

her widened eyes

croon His tune

summer…

her sweating eyes chant

His name to no end

autumn…

eyes half-closed

she still waits on Him

winter...

her freezing eyes hug

His image closer

snowstorm...

aftereffects baby smile

ice in diaper

jasmine

in her hair

wet the spring’s parting

diwali

burning holes in pockets yet

harmless mirth aglow

post-downpour

my kerchief drips

her blunt no’s

for December feel

I turn AC to coolest—

Chennai winter

smoke and fog merging

under their blanket…

elope over smog

love here winter sun;

not closer North freezing Pole

oh brother

sankranti* eve…

homeward vacationers beam

busloads at stations

Senryu

children’s day….

with a balloon on the road

a boy selling tea

blanket clouds ...

spreading starlight

the urchin shivers

matrimony

made for each other:

fault-finders for life

Dussehera…

strayed fire engine dousing

Ravan effigy

terror scene…

vendor on a gurney now

fresh vegetable

december morning…

I develop severe haiku

to sneeze out senryu

new-year morn…

I squeeze more toothpaste

to sparkle wishes

All in a day's work

I landed here to play

Have not much long to stay

Yet will have a field day

With first innings in sway

What’s in store known no way

Wear ’n tear comes to stay

I use sun to make hay

Praying: all in a day….

At last long poems!

It was a long time I wrote

A poem that is really long,

Before I found you out.

Your glorious face tied me down.

I lay at your golden feet

From where I gaped at your face:

One that had no depths,

Only your eyes sparked.

I started from your feet,

Upwards, for a place

To keep my flowers,

Out of my blind devotion.

Soon I found you have no body,

Only you let us be your corporeal mass...

Now I write poems,

those are long and strong.

Love all— not in dirty pictures

I say it’s like liking strangers,

A thing or concept forever,

Unprompted and unqualified,

As if it is in the system,

Feeling, instinct indefinite,

And unique, when recognized

Or even not; blind as a bat,

Catching, private, cultivable

By habit or education;

Borders on culture and training

By Faith, conviction in others—

Increase after understanding;

And oddly enough to an extent

After hatred; and finally my word:

Absolute love hates but none,

Owns them all, wise or otherwise,

Only for love’s sake, call love any name.

Hail one, the lovesick, who shall win

At Life game even from ‘Love all’!

Romantic boyish charm ends with Dev Anand at 88

The evergreen romantic hero from Indian cinema, Dev Anand, died in London, on Saturday night following cardiac arrest. Muse India mourns the death of the icon, a legendary movie star for more than six decades. Dev Anand is survived by his wife, son and daughter. The flamboyant actor, producer and director is known for his charismatic roles in scores of movies, including "Jewel Thief" and "Guide."

Born Dharam Dev Pishori Anand, 26th September, 1923, in Pakistan (undivided Punjab in Colonial era), Dev Anand graduated in English Literature from the Government College, Lahore.

Dev Saab was honored with the prestigious Padma Bhushan in 2001 and Dada Saheb Phalke Award in 2002. Dev Anand won two Filmfare Awards. He co-produced ‘Guide’, the English version, with the Nobel Laureate Pearl S Buck (‘The Good Earth’). He received a Filmfare ‘Lifetime Achievement Award’ besides a Screen Videocon ‘Lifetime Achievement Award’.

Jewel Thief, Johny Mera Naam, Hare Rama Hare Krishna, Des Pardes, CID, and Paying Guest are some of his memorable films.

Many used to puff the hair as high but few could do as near as his glowing smile and characteristic nod and other distinctive mannerisms. The great artiste is termed as the style Guru for his fashion statements in Bollywood until he died “on his own terms”.

Film songs screened on Dev Anand are alive and continue to do so in the minds of his fans. Following are some numbers: Khoya Khoya Chand ((kala bazar), Gata Rahe Mera Dil (Guide),Yeh Dil Na Hota Bechara, Nafrat Karne Walon, Hum Hai Rahi Pyar Ke, Dheere Dheere Chal Chand Gagan Mein, Tere Mere Sapne and Main Zindagi Ka Sath Nibhata Chala Gaya.

In his death, a huge void is felt in the entire Indian film industry. May God rest his soul in peace!

Courage

Earth belongs to the courageous,

Who have one trait absolute

That keeps faith in oneself;

For he or she is not afraid

Of setting goals worthy and tough,

Fears not falling down from the set ones,

Or yields not to temptations—

Tend no fear or favor.

The word courage is stronger to brave,

as one can be not so brave

Yet be courageous having conviction,

And sticking to his or her word—

not wavers from goals

Against one who can be foolishly brave,

like child not knowing pros and cons,

The courageous are honest;

And finally the right and virtuous

Can only be courageous like Gandhi.

Who and what big boss to me...

I was watching a TV show. It must be a hit among young viewers. It revolves around a set of celebrity inmates under one roof round the clock. They looked like bickering all the time on some other thing, and one was even getting into tantrums.

The idea of the reality show became obvious to me. I thought it must be a very testing time for those inmates while getting along well, or for that matter, fighting their way to survive the season among other inmates with the heterogeneous and manipulated emotional equations which are dynamic. Conditions and overall ambiance of the living quarters and thereabouts are attractive enough to me as a middle class urbanite. Yet the inmates have to cook and wash by themselves, not to my taste. The crux lies in how inmates would last in the good books of audiences as well as the other inmates. A voting system is in place when an inmate is voted against by others every now and then in a week or so, and replacements made basing on the organizers’ and public opinions.

As it is, they were doing a tough time away from world, especially their near and dear. It must be like living in jailhouse while the camp has a makeshift prison strangely. After all, keeping one’s wits intact for a prolonged time, 24/7, is no mean feat (really mean, my daughter says) in the company of near strangers.



Voyeurism is increasingly becoming the key seller in today’s TV. Viewers from the comfort of dressing rooms wish to see how bad the inmates feel and behave at any point of time of day or night. The 'house' is ridden with cameras and snippets of the inmates at their various activities captured are shown to the viewers schematically. Microphones grab discreet gossips at the lowest levels, mind it.



Well, after a few episodes I was getting increasingly curious of the tidings, while my daughter was having her own reservations. It looks she wanted to see the show all by herself. One day, a contestant was given the gate for the so-called violence. I felt sad for the inmate who was evicted. It is better to term inmates as contestants.



Here I remember my mother-in-law's visit way back. May she rest in peace still! She stayed for a whole week. During her brief visit I was tight lipped or talking so cautiously with my wife. I was even respectable with the kids. I was helping out in the kitchen too. While watching TV, I was not much outspoken on politics of the day. My wife knew the change and kept inviting her soon after.

At last I approved the show; whatever if I don’t, my daughter would say. The few episodes gave me some rare practical lessons, i.e. how I should communicate with strangers, be they guests, neighbors or co-travelers in the public transport. Next is how I should present myself in testing times, to be honest and show it on the floor, even in sleep; how forthcoming I should be in my total personality in a positive way, to live and let live; how I should win others completely at the first instance and all the way till curtains.

It occurred that acting will not help, when people judge one like from an open book. But I guess it is only half the story for the reason that public opinion is governed by several stereotypes; I have to neutralize ‘stereotypes’ to be in the good books of the others. Some are: which part of the land I am from; whether I came from rich or influential family, where I studied, fair-skinned or not so, what accent I have, how do I dress about, what perfume I wear, and lastly, am I male or female. They include the way my name is spelled. I should fight those stereotypes, which are odds, to present my best, and win others. Also I need to train myself not to be led by similar stereotypes while judging others.

అందమంటే ఇప్పుడు!

అబ్బో ఎంత బావుంది!

ముట్టుకుంటే సిగ్గుపడేలాగుంది!

కొంచెం అడ్వాన్సు అయ్యాను.

కాటేసింది,

అందానికి అదేమి పాడు బుద్దో!

అయినా కూడా విప్పుతూ పోయాను,

ఎవరూ చూడడం లేదని.

చూస్తే, లోపల ఏం లేదు!

అనవసరంగా వేస్ట్ చేశానా?

అందరి కుర్రాళ్ళ లాగ?

ఇప్పుడయితే ఉంచుతాను

డ్రెస్సింగ్ టేబుల్ మీద.

అంతకంటే ఏమిచేస్కుంటాను,

మరి పూల అందాలని ఇప్పుడు!

What beauty now

Oh, there I saw a beauty.

Seemed shy on my first touch!

I advanced further—

Duly stung then;

What a shame for beauty!

Undeterred, I began

With none in sight,

Undressing the beauty;

Found nothing inside rather.

Like the youth of my age, I did waste.

What I do with beauty now

More than placing on my dresser?

What do I these days

Do with flowers and their beauty?

(My first ever self-translation from Telugu)

Never amiss this love sublime!

It is like that sunny day again,

or was it like on that moonlit night-

like when I was in love?

I see butterflies and my bygone Lily;

as flowers reflect my past love,

get softer over time.

I see the snow on rooftops;

my lover was still in her radiance,

like my soft prayer in its cadence.

My breath no longer holds still,

yet I wish the rain dripped on leaves along,

strings of heart sung, even and strong.

My feelings always reflect that old bliss;

Pray peace of mind never amiss!

(Also published on poetry.com, 2008)

Stuck with cabin fever

Blown away by the avalanches

Of pictures and words,

Equally by those sound bites,

Sans messages any…

I shrunk deeper into the crevices

Of what remained of mother earth

After the oceans covering three parts

Of us and ebbing with marvelous life,

And that includes happily many deserts

And uninhabitable lands which also include...

Alas, my dried up rural India.

So I looked up at the pleasant sky,

Listlessly wiped the screens of polluters,

To see into, beyond the pleasant starlight,

For some reclusion… and pity it was,

There lay in the universe a replica

Of what is contained in this cell.

That made me put with my cabin fever

And climb through the mess for good.