Postmodern India

Festivals would be grand in India; Uncles and
aunts flocked from all over in advance. The males
having had a long hot bath sat around in their new
vests and lungis discussing politics,
monsoon and elopements. While the
women busy in the kitchen preparing
the grand midday lunch, fondly
sliced their variably coloured vegetables- tomatoes,
onions, cucumbers, catching up with their dose of gossip.
We children roamed around draped
in our new crispy clothes and pride,
hollering and running about; generally
being kids until the late evening
feature film on the good old
doordarshan.
One day it was tawaif.
Being the inclined in such matters, I asked the
elders gathered what would tawaif mean ? Many of them, It
is likely, did not know but they did enough to
hide it from a ten year old. Those who knew,
made disapproving nods, and broke on to
a monologue about immoral influences
of television on kids.
So naturally
I thought it was a bad filthy
word, bad enough to be safely stored for future use(if need be).
I guess it was next morning at the school, a girl
made me angry over something I cant
recall now — so in my rage it came to me
to call her tawaif. Naturally again,
she presumed it was a bad filthy word
and covering her gaped mouth with her tiny hands, promptly
reported to the bespectacled teacher. Miss Daisy
although did not exactly catch what I had said, scolded me
for being bad filthy and told me to write
an imposition to the effect that I would not repeat it.
so I ended up apologising
for something I did not know.
It took a good few years
to realise that tawaif meant
a dancer dancing for others
pleasure. Oh!! just like Jennifer Lopez ,
I thought
switching on the MTV.

Posted at 4am on 08/04/08 | No Comments » | Filed Under: Poem
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Water

To be water is to be thought itself in its entirety. Oh the clarity of consciousness. Pureness.

Lets do a J Locke on water. Think water. Think how a sparkly drop slithers off gracefully from the tip of the tangerine leaf onto the one below , think how the ripples in a pond grow and grow into their own slow death. Think how slimy heavywet your socks feel after an accidental rainpuddlewalk, or how the fingertips feel as you write on a moist puffedamp window pane. Think how it is to hear the cavernous eternity of the tides roaring one after the other lying on a beach, or the tap that leaks so excruciatingly on a lazy afternoon. Think of that watertaste on your parched tongue just after a long summer run, or think of how heavy and pregnant the evening smells just before a tropical rain. Yes that water. If original thought is regarded the prized accomplishment of man as a being, then water is the thought of nature. The undeniable symbol of the eternity of being and becoming. Water is the visible form of the universe. Think water, think life.

Posted at 8pm on 04/08/08 | No Comments » | Filed Under: Notes
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