the last few months have been mundane. life has continued at a humdrum pace with things alternating between work, late hours and absolute rusting of grey cells. to try out something different and entertain myself, i grew a french beard or a goatee as its properly called by the nexus of un employed poets, down and out street performers and the supposedly uber cool crowd.
results were varied - wife complains of stubble rash if i smooch her, son said i looked like a tarantula (did not have the heart to ask him why)
the beard is like a gumboil. it is annoying at first and then it grows on you. if its not around, its like missing a woman in your life. on the flip side, everyone knows when i have had noodles, white hair creeps in at an alarming rate making it look like a horde of termites have had a field day.
to shave or not to shave that is the question.....
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Monday, March 21, 2005
chianti sutra
over the last couple of months I have seen my self transgress from a man to a drone going through the motions. it may be winter ennui. it could be the listless work but its quite apparent there's been a lack of passion in the things I do.
on sunday, i noticed my little son spend time dismantling things meticulously with his cycle. Whatever he was doing looked laboriously boring to me but passionate to him . His sole aim was to grind crayons under his tricycle wheel.
The gameplan was simple, the execution near perfect. the result disastorous for the crayons and his parents but triumphic for him.
within 30 minutes, he had ground a dozen crayons and had also dirtied the marble flooring not to mention his tri cycle wheels. He had also incurred grandmother caution, maternal wrath and father's look of annoyance.
On a casual note, the crayons were all gone but he didn't think so. it was quite apparent to him that life did lurk within those wasted objects. Life which had to be dealt with. he grouped the dismembered crayons together and drove the cycle all over it again.
This bought to mind something I had seen on CNN during the war on terror. An highly sophisticated million dollar stealth pounding foot solidiers or soldiers on cycles.
Anyway that was something one does not explain to a hyper 3 year old.
Here are some poems which made sense pre and post chianti stupor...
Regina Derieva - All My Life
============================
All my life
I sought
an angel.
And he appeared
in order to say:
"I am no angel !"
Matsuo Basho - How admirable
============================
How admirable!
to see lightning and not think
life is fleeting.
Wislawa Szymborska - Going Home
================================
He came home. Said nothing.
It was clear, though, that something had gone wrong.
He lay down fully dressed.
Pulled the blanket over his head.
Tucked up his knees.
He's nearly forty, but not at the moment.
He exists just as he did inside his mother's womb,
clad in seven walls of skin, in sheltered darkness.
Tomorrow he'll give a lecture
on homeostasis in metagalactic cosmonautics.
For now, though, he has curled up and gone to sleep.
on sunday, i noticed my little son spend time dismantling things meticulously with his cycle. Whatever he was doing looked laboriously boring to me but passionate to him . His sole aim was to grind crayons under his tricycle wheel.
The gameplan was simple, the execution near perfect. the result disastorous for the crayons and his parents but triumphic for him.
within 30 minutes, he had ground a dozen crayons and had also dirtied the marble flooring not to mention his tri cycle wheels. He had also incurred grandmother caution, maternal wrath and father's look of annoyance.
On a casual note, the crayons were all gone but he didn't think so. it was quite apparent to him that life did lurk within those wasted objects. Life which had to be dealt with. he grouped the dismembered crayons together and drove the cycle all over it again.
This bought to mind something I had seen on CNN during the war on terror. An highly sophisticated million dollar stealth pounding foot solidiers or soldiers on cycles.
Anyway that was something one does not explain to a hyper 3 year old.
Here are some poems which made sense pre and post chianti stupor...
Regina Derieva - All My Life
============================
All my life
I sought
an angel.
And he appeared
in order to say:
"I am no angel !"
Matsuo Basho - How admirable
============================
How admirable!
to see lightning and not think
life is fleeting.
Wislawa Szymborska - Going Home
================================
He came home. Said nothing.
It was clear, though, that something had gone wrong.
He lay down fully dressed.
Pulled the blanket over his head.
Tucked up his knees.
He's nearly forty, but not at the moment.
He exists just as he did inside his mother's womb,
clad in seven walls of skin, in sheltered darkness.
Tomorrow he'll give a lecture
on homeostasis in metagalactic cosmonautics.
For now, though, he has curled up and gone to sleep.
Monday, March 07, 2005
bronzed days
come the weekend and my life follows a routine.saturday is mostly spent on finishing the domestic chores and the inevitable trip to the supermarket.
on sundays life continues between limbo (read that as inactivity, wine and sloth) and guilt ridden pangs of spending more time with the clan.
into this state of non perfect nirvana ,rhetoric questions of how creativity has been wasted has been surreptiously seeping in.
one of the things i have been noticing about is the number of bronze and brass figurines at home. i see them all over blackened by years of neglect and the sorry state of this world's pollution problem.
as i was contemplating about how these figurines must have looked before they all darkened,i decided to find out.
armed with economy size vats of brasso, silvo and other products which have sung and danced on television, i sat and laboured on the polishing. after nearly an hour of arm wrenching work peppered with with swear words as and when figurine has fallen on leg, i noticed they looked only slightly better.
2 clear options stood before me, give up and do something else like read a book or try something different.
the first looked good but would only induce pangs of guilty remorse later, hence i decided to do something different. Thinking back to what my grandmother, my mother and scores of indian women in the past would have done came to the rescue. voila - tamarind soaked in water (acidic prep...) and liberal use of dish washing powder later was the balm to instant polishing.
yes, i smelled terrible and would not be asked for a date by la lopez but the figurines glowed, the dirt and rust having disintegrated away.
next mission impossible - fix the ever growing army of my son's stuff with broken wheels, books without binders, etc.
here's a job for mr araldite man...
on sundays life continues between limbo (read that as inactivity, wine and sloth) and guilt ridden pangs of spending more time with the clan.
into this state of non perfect nirvana ,rhetoric questions of how creativity has been wasted has been surreptiously seeping in.
one of the things i have been noticing about is the number of bronze and brass figurines at home. i see them all over blackened by years of neglect and the sorry state of this world's pollution problem.
as i was contemplating about how these figurines must have looked before they all darkened,i decided to find out.
armed with economy size vats of brasso, silvo and other products which have sung and danced on television, i sat and laboured on the polishing. after nearly an hour of arm wrenching work peppered with with swear words as and when figurine has fallen on leg, i noticed they looked only slightly better.
2 clear options stood before me, give up and do something else like read a book or try something different.
the first looked good but would only induce pangs of guilty remorse later, hence i decided to do something different. Thinking back to what my grandmother, my mother and scores of indian women in the past would have done came to the rescue. voila - tamarind soaked in water (acidic prep...) and liberal use of dish washing powder later was the balm to instant polishing.
yes, i smelled terrible and would not be asked for a date by la lopez but the figurines glowed, the dirt and rust having disintegrated away.
next mission impossible - fix the ever growing army of my son's stuff with broken wheels, books without binders, etc.
here's a job for mr araldite man...
Monday, December 27, 2004
Sufi poetry for the soul
this one is for a wonderful person who is also an amazing kid :)
so grab your nearest swirling dervish and get your wine and let sufism take over.....
"I tried to find Him on the Christian cross, but He was not there; I went to the Temple of the Hindus and to the old pagodas, but I could not find a trace of Him anywhere.
I searched on the mountains and in the valleys but neither in the heights nor in the depths was I able to find Him. I went to the Caaba in Mecca, but He was not there either.
I questioned the scholars and philosophers but He was beyond their understanding.
I then looked into my heart, and it was there where He dwelled that I saw Him; He was nowhere else to be found."
******
There is a candle in your heart...
There is a candle in your heart,
ready to be kindled.
There is a void in your soul,
ready to be filled.
You feel it, don't you?
You feel the separation
from the Beloved.
Invite Him to fill you up,
embrace the fire.
Remind those who tell you otherwise that
Love
comes to you of its own accord,
and the yearning for it
cannot be learned in any school.
From: 'Hush Don't Say Anything to God: Passionate Poems of Rumi'
************
Lover whispers to my ear,
"Better to be a prey than a hunter.
Make yourself My fool.
Stop trying to be the sun and become a speck!
Dwell at My door and be homeless.
Don't pretend to be a candle, be a moth,
so you may taste the savor of Life
and know the power hidden in serving."
Mathnawi V. 411-414 (translated by Kabir Helminski)
*****
Listen for the stream
that tells you one thing.
Die on this bank.
Begin in me
the way of rivers with the sea.
Rumi
*******
In the dead of night, a Sufi began to weep.
He said, "This world is like a closed coffin, in which
We are shut and in which, through our ignorance,
We spend our lives in folly and desolation.
When Death comes to open the lid of the coffin,
Each one who has wings will fly off to Eternity,
But those without will remain locked in the coffin.
So, my friends, before the lid of this coffin is taken off,
Do all you can to become a bird of the Way to God;
Do all you can to develop your wings and your feathers."
Farid ud Din Attar, - 'Perfume of the Desert'
**************
Hidden behind the veil of mystery, Beauty is eternally free from the slightest stain of imperfection.
From the atoms of the world, He created a multitude of mirrors; into each one of them He cast the image of His Face; to the awakened eye, anything that appears beautiful is only a reflection of that Face.
Now that you have seen the reflection, hurry to its Source; in that primordial Light the reflection vanishes completely. Do not linger far from that primal Source; when the reflection fades, you will be lost in darkness.
The reflection is as transient as the smile of a rose; if you want permanence, turn towards the Source; if you want fidelity, look to the Mine of faithfulness. Why tear your soul apart over something here one moment and gone the next?
Jami, translation by Andrew Harvey and Eryk Hanut.
**************
Whether your destiny is glory or disgrace,
Purify yourself of hatred and love of self.
Polish your mirror; and that sublime Beauty
From the regions of mystery
Will flame out in your heart
As it did for the saints and prophets.
Then, with your heart on fire with that Splendor,
The secret of the Beloved will no longer be hidden.
Jami, translation by Andrew Harvey and Eryk Hanut
***********
Longing is the core of mystery.
Longing itself brings the cure.
The only rule is, Suffer the pain.
Your desire must be disciplined,
and what you want to happen
in time, sacrificed.
Rumi
********
The Morning Wind Spreads
The morning wind spreads its fresh smell.
We must get up and take that in,
that wind that lets us live.
Breathe before it's gone.
Rumi
*********
I wonder
from these thousand of "me's",
which one am I?
Listen to my cry, do not drown my voice
I am completely filled with the thought of you.
Don't lay broken glass on my path
I will crush it into dust.
I am nothing, just a mirror in the palm of your hand,
reflecting your kindness, your sadness, your anger.
If you were a blade of grass or a tiny flower
I will pitch my tent in your shadow.
Only your presence revives my withered heart.
You are the candle that lights the whole world
and I am an empty vessel for your light.
Rumi
**************
O bird of the morning, learn love from the moth
Because it burnt, lost its life, and found no voice.
These pretenders are ignorantly in search of Him,
Because he who obtained knowledge has not returned.
Sheikh Muslih-uddin Sa'di Shirazi - The Gulistan of Sa'di
so grab your nearest swirling dervish and get your wine and let sufism take over.....
"I tried to find Him on the Christian cross, but He was not there; I went to the Temple of the Hindus and to the old pagodas, but I could not find a trace of Him anywhere.
I searched on the mountains and in the valleys but neither in the heights nor in the depths was I able to find Him. I went to the Caaba in Mecca, but He was not there either.
I questioned the scholars and philosophers but He was beyond their understanding.
I then looked into my heart, and it was there where He dwelled that I saw Him; He was nowhere else to be found."
******
There is a candle in your heart...
There is a candle in your heart,
ready to be kindled.
There is a void in your soul,
ready to be filled.
You feel it, don't you?
You feel the separation
from the Beloved.
Invite Him to fill you up,
embrace the fire.
Remind those who tell you otherwise that
Love
comes to you of its own accord,
and the yearning for it
cannot be learned in any school.
From: 'Hush Don't Say Anything to God: Passionate Poems of Rumi'
************
Lover whispers to my ear,
"Better to be a prey than a hunter.
Make yourself My fool.
Stop trying to be the sun and become a speck!
Dwell at My door and be homeless.
Don't pretend to be a candle, be a moth,
so you may taste the savor of Life
and know the power hidden in serving."
Mathnawi V. 411-414 (translated by Kabir Helminski)
*****
Listen for the stream
that tells you one thing.
Die on this bank.
Begin in me
the way of rivers with the sea.
Rumi
*******
In the dead of night, a Sufi began to weep.
He said, "This world is like a closed coffin, in which
We are shut and in which, through our ignorance,
We spend our lives in folly and desolation.
When Death comes to open the lid of the coffin,
Each one who has wings will fly off to Eternity,
But those without will remain locked in the coffin.
So, my friends, before the lid of this coffin is taken off,
Do all you can to become a bird of the Way to God;
Do all you can to develop your wings and your feathers."
Farid ud Din Attar, - 'Perfume of the Desert'
**************
Hidden behind the veil of mystery, Beauty is eternally free from the slightest stain of imperfection.
From the atoms of the world, He created a multitude of mirrors; into each one of them He cast the image of His Face; to the awakened eye, anything that appears beautiful is only a reflection of that Face.
Now that you have seen the reflection, hurry to its Source; in that primordial Light the reflection vanishes completely. Do not linger far from that primal Source; when the reflection fades, you will be lost in darkness.
The reflection is as transient as the smile of a rose; if you want permanence, turn towards the Source; if you want fidelity, look to the Mine of faithfulness. Why tear your soul apart over something here one moment and gone the next?
Jami, translation by Andrew Harvey and Eryk Hanut.
**************
Whether your destiny is glory or disgrace,
Purify yourself of hatred and love of self.
Polish your mirror; and that sublime Beauty
From the regions of mystery
Will flame out in your heart
As it did for the saints and prophets.
Then, with your heart on fire with that Splendor,
The secret of the Beloved will no longer be hidden.
Jami, translation by Andrew Harvey and Eryk Hanut
***********
Longing is the core of mystery.
Longing itself brings the cure.
The only rule is, Suffer the pain.
Your desire must be disciplined,
and what you want to happen
in time, sacrificed.
Rumi
********
The Morning Wind Spreads
The morning wind spreads its fresh smell.
We must get up and take that in,
that wind that lets us live.
Breathe before it's gone.
Rumi
*********
I wonder
from these thousand of "me's",
which one am I?
Listen to my cry, do not drown my voice
I am completely filled with the thought of you.
Don't lay broken glass on my path
I will crush it into dust.
I am nothing, just a mirror in the palm of your hand,
reflecting your kindness, your sadness, your anger.
If you were a blade of grass or a tiny flower
I will pitch my tent in your shadow.
Only your presence revives my withered heart.
You are the candle that lights the whole world
and I am an empty vessel for your light.
Rumi
**************
O bird of the morning, learn love from the moth
Because it burnt, lost its life, and found no voice.
These pretenders are ignorantly in search of Him,
Because he who obtained knowledge has not returned.
Sheikh Muslih-uddin Sa'di Shirazi - The Gulistan of Sa'di
tsunami's and other waves ....
it was the day before xmas when family abandoned me and vamoosed to the unsalubrious shores of madras.I had thought I was in for a week of serene reading and calm broken by regular intakes of vodka / wine, music and possible blending with couch in front of tv. in short vegetate and grow roots slowly.
but life,as rod stewart puts it, is a bitch.i had driven clan to airport putting on a stoic face akin to families lost during partition.svelte woman behind counter in velvet voice which made harps ring and angels sing told me that flight to madras which came in from delhi was 5 hours late due to fog in delhi. i could have burnt woman to stake (in her mini skirt and revlon smile).
day 1 friday - lost in airport and no cath zeta jones too. only consolation amazing plum cake provided by neighbours and some wunderbar wine........ hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
day 2 sat- nature takes revenge on my decadent living. family in madras but frantic calls from wife that there was an earthquake there and to make matters worse, mr. tsunami does his bit too.all that was missing was noah and his ark.sat glued to telly watching various regional weather newspersons being prophets of doom. son being oblivious to surrounding disaster would call me every hour that his pogo and cartoon network channels were on the blink...
day 3 sunday - my house has the curse of the wood goddess and is the environmentalist femme fatale delight. since the time i moved in, bees have taken particular liking to the place and have built hives of disparate shapes. pest control men being wise in their financial matters have ripped me of moolah and have tried everything from grease to something close to napalm. !!! in any case it has not solved matters.
the bees this time came in to work with much gusto and built something like a radical mullah's beard within 25 minutes. they then admired their handiwork and started to fight among themselves. now in addition to house being swarmed by bees, it was swarmed by rampaging tyson like bees.some restorative brandy did help and the homicide count among winged friends was quite high which I had to mop up. bee hive is now looking like day old stubble.
day 4 (today) monday - decided to get back to work and be slave to cubicle rather than stay at home and face impending new disaster.
moral of the story - elements are women and am sure wife has bribed them to ensure i am not lazing around.
but life,as rod stewart puts it, is a bitch.i had driven clan to airport putting on a stoic face akin to families lost during partition.svelte woman behind counter in velvet voice which made harps ring and angels sing told me that flight to madras which came in from delhi was 5 hours late due to fog in delhi. i could have burnt woman to stake (in her mini skirt and revlon smile).
day 1 friday - lost in airport and no cath zeta jones too. only consolation amazing plum cake provided by neighbours and some wunderbar wine........ hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
day 2 sat- nature takes revenge on my decadent living. family in madras but frantic calls from wife that there was an earthquake there and to make matters worse, mr. tsunami does his bit too.all that was missing was noah and his ark.sat glued to telly watching various regional weather newspersons being prophets of doom. son being oblivious to surrounding disaster would call me every hour that his pogo and cartoon network channels were on the blink...
day 3 sunday - my house has the curse of the wood goddess and is the environmentalist femme fatale delight. since the time i moved in, bees have taken particular liking to the place and have built hives of disparate shapes. pest control men being wise in their financial matters have ripped me of moolah and have tried everything from grease to something close to napalm. !!! in any case it has not solved matters.
the bees this time came in to work with much gusto and built something like a radical mullah's beard within 25 minutes. they then admired their handiwork and started to fight among themselves. now in addition to house being swarmed by bees, it was swarmed by rampaging tyson like bees.some restorative brandy did help and the homicide count among winged friends was quite high which I had to mop up. bee hive is now looking like day old stubble.
day 4 (today) monday - decided to get back to work and be slave to cubicle rather than stay at home and face impending new disaster.
moral of the story - elements are women and am sure wife has bribed them to ensure i am not lazing around.
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