Symphony of Swallows

It was evening. The sun was low on the horizon, the sky tinged with gold and pink. Suddenly my eyes caught a movement in the skies. There were a few swallows swooping around, gliding, darting, playing. A few more joined them, and a few more, till they all painted the skies in silent symphony of a thousand choreographed songs - broad brush strokes of tiny dancing dots. I stood and danced to this chorus.

Winter

 शर्द के धुंधले दीनो में 

धुन्धले से ख्वाब 

बीते दिनों से झलके  

कुछ ठंडी सी आग 

चादरों में लिपेटे 
कुछ नर्म-गर्म यादें 

नझरों की दूरियां 
और भूले हुए वादे 

ख़ामोश स्वरों से गूँजे 
अतीत के कुछ राग 

तारों कि चिंगारियां 
और यही उम्र भर की रात 

Metz Snippets

sparrows: Two days back, the people above our apartment threw down their fungused rotis from their window. At first we thought that giant mushrooms had sprung overnight with all the rains, littering the lawn with brown and cream dotted circles. On a closer look, I knew these were food rejects of humans. I looked up at the closed window above. Two days later, the rains have continued and softened these human fungi. Now flocks of fluffed up winter sparrows nibble on these - and fly to the cedar, when I creep for a closer look. Now, the silence is filled with chirps.

chinese food: Across from us, and a little down our corridor, live a bunch of chinese students. I have seen them a few times, fleetingly, closing the door, walking out, in and out of laundry room. But most of all, I know them through the smells. As soon as I step into the corridor, I am assailed by smells that emanate through their closed door. Intense, unmistakable smells of really good chinese food. I salivate, drool, pause and then move on. I have now resolved to cook better - good indian food. Today I made patties-chole with coriander-mint-tamarind chutney. Yummy…I wonder if these smell reach their noses too? Maybe I should open the door.

fort queuleu: is only a short distance from our current home, 2 km on google map.  The other day, we took a walk to there.  There is a dense green forested park inside the stone fort - very few people around, only a couple of cars parked. We crossed this family of four, returning with large sacks of tree logs. We were surprised, that one could remove wood from a public park; but we were really shocked that all the wood they carried had been cleanly sliced, clearly cut from trees. As we returned, we saw the family loading into a posh SUV and drive off. So this happens, also in France, and also by rich in France - same as in India, huh?

Watching Films

I am a film buff. Love movies - especially one that tell a good tale, make me think, heighten awareness about a wider world - inner as well as external. In India I usually watch foreign films, downloaded from the net. So, it is strange that now, in France, I have unconsciously turned to watching hindi films, on youtube…and they all blow me away. Here is a list of what I have watched over the last few days - all of them powerful in their myriad different ways.

Khamosh Pani
Ek Doctor Ki Maut
Gaman
Lunch Box
Sooraj ka Satwa Ghoda
Manthan

The one waiting next in my queue is Dance of the Wind.

PS::Just finished watching the last one…can't recommend it like the previous list..beautifully shot, but the point was lost to me.

Mad Heart

Mad Heart,
flutters wild,
anguish riled,
& beats in hope
as it gropes
thru' unjust ages;
evil rages
and wipes out
a righteous shout
"This is not fate -
 just an unjust State"
that pelts rain
of misery and pain
and kills spirits
fine; limits
our imagination
with sedition!
But, we are born free,
and cannot just flee
persecution or wrong;
but bellow our song,
of destiny to dream
for a light beam
to pierce this dark,
expose evil stark
to ease this wild,
mad heart.

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I must not care?
Learn to not care?
about love, loss,
and a slipping time,
of dreams, hopes
of youth - once mine?
Why live
to anesthetize
our pains,
giving up joys too
in bargain?
Give me wings,
a voice to sing,
a tearful lament
or a wild trill
I am, and -
I live still.

Poison

Dear Editor,

It has been my privilege to serve 'The Hindu' over the last two decades. I thank you for your active encouragement and support during this period. I am enclosing a brief piece from my posting in this area. This will be my last contribution - my swan song. I request you to carry this very personal piece, as is, and hope the credibility of my authorship, and facts which will eventually come to light, will make this story believable.

----------------

Deadly Development

It is poll time again here. As expected, the state is gearing up for this next election on promises of continued large scale development with high fiscal growth. To reinforce their pro-people position, the state has just completed a new highway joining the capital to Korba and across the state to Ranchi - through the densely forested, wildest and most remote tribal regions of the state. Today the CM inaugurated a new bus route on this highway; I was privileged, as a Hindu reporter, to participate in this inaugural journey. Surprisingly, there appeared to be few people, wanting to make this maiden run. Last night, in a Raipur bar, I heard rumors of poison-people, of their strange rituals, customs. The local drivers were reluctant to drive this route and finally a driver from Chennai had been found for the inaugural journey.

Today, all went smoothly, with a lot of fanfare, press and television coverage. I sat on a front seat, by the window, with a full view through the windshield. The driver and I exchanged a few pleasantries in tamil, with the genuine happiness of finding a kindred spirit in a distant land. The bus was hardly half full - being made up of very few locals - mainly low rank officers who had been forced to take the ride by their superiors. The ride towards and after Korba was through the thickest jungles I have ever seen - and this gladdened the heart.  The road was dark and a narrow ribbon of sky accompanied the bus on its empty journey ahead. It was then that I saw two small figures in a distance, standing by the side of the road; apparently, so did the locals - who had been acting very twitchy and nervous - some were even praying. There was an immediate clamor to not stop the bus - the driver seemed uncertain and hesitated. It was at this point that I interfered. Putting full authority of my experience and position, I commanded the driver to stop, for what was now clearly two young children waiting at the road.

The two children got on and smiled in glee; there is no other word to describe the innocence and the happiness of their smile.  They looked like brother and sister, in tattered rags, and between 10-12 years of age. I smiled back and pointed to the empty seats across from me, for them to sit. They clambered on their seats with excitement of ones who had never seen any machine. The driver asked them where they were going, but got no response, except their smiles. It was very likely that they did not speak hindi. It was then that I noticed their small knotted bundle, probably their food and belongings.

Soon everyone settled down and there were sheepish exchanges between the locals, for their unfounded fears. A couple even ventured tentatively to volunteer that I had done the right thing by asking the bus stop for these two young ones.  It was about an hour later that the two started chattering amongst themselves with suppressed excitement and cheeky laughter. They opened their bundle and I was startled to see the contents writhing inside - there appeared to be about 10-12 snakes wriggling and darting their forked tongues - clearly in agitation at being bound up so long. I immediately asked the children to tie them back, but they just looked at me and laughed and set them all free.

It took a while for the passengers to catch on what had happened, and by that time it was too late for them, or me, or the driver. It is too late now. The weaker ones have already fainted - their pulse, feeble.  One passenger has recognised the snakes as the rarest, and deadliest in the nation.  It is futile now to fight the inevitable. There is no mobile connection here - and I am frantically typing the story on my laptop, even as I feel a searing through my blood, and a suffocating dullness begin to wipe away my brain and breath. The bus has come to a halt; in haziness and from corner of my eye I watch the children slowly pick up their pets and carefully lower them back into their jola, and tie them in. They have now got off the bus - laughing - peals of young laughter.

To Be or Not To Be : Content

I sit in this room, alone and reflect away my idle hours, still wondering, despite the lateness of my years, what is the right way for me to lead my life.  I am torn between the same choices as Hamlet when he broods:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?

I am tempted between seeking grace of a do-nothing-contentment, versus throw myself into a battlefield of life, and fight - any of its many wrongs. Do I sit in awareness and acceptance of what is, or fight to create what must be, for me, my community, entire world, guided by my own inner compass of what is right and just. Is it really nobler to seek comfort in my insignificance,  futility of a mere individual strife, to find solace in the profound Zen wisdom " I seek only contentment", from the famous Tsukubai at the Ryonji temple, in Kyoto. 

Ideally, and this is usual for me, I would prefer to have it both - to fight, but in grace and awareness, acknowledging the illusionary nature of my quest, my be-ing, this life. I would like to fight, but 

only in the spirit of "karmanye vadhikaraste..", and with a smile inside, in awareness of the fight, and the worlds inside and outside - the dance of the swallows, the falling leaves, and the ephemeral clouds and this transient moment in which 'I' exists. I would like all my parallel journeys to be simultaneously lived - with awareness of them all.

Autumn in a Bottle, and other tidbits from Metz

I. Yesterday I went gathering autumn. I picked it up, color dripping leaf by leaf, and brought back a bouquet, which I stuffed in a bottle...

...and a  Vase.

Now I sit and stare and wonder at the autumn, in my room, and me.

II. Metz is Stained in Glass: and I wonder why? I wander within this stained light and watch it color me blue, purple, yellow, orange, red and green...and many other shades in between. Is it to illuminate the heart? and bear it ? this blue heart, this red throbbing heart, this soaring yellow heart, a sinking violet heart? to learn that hearts can be stained and it is better this way?

 

III. I go swimming regularly. Swimming happens here in a very disciplined manner with strict rules that guide people swimming in loops within lanes meant for lap swimmers. Every now and then, someone breaks the rules, overtakes, splashes, and plays...and people pause in wonder.

Yesterday I found to my delight that there were three sumo wrestlers in the same narrow lane as me. They were as sombre and majestic in water as when they are on ground. They swam in full control and practiced style and grace. However each time one crossed me, there was an enormous wave, a surge, that hit my face, and I drank gallons of swimming pool water, even as I watched a massive whale glide away next to me.  I watched in amazement and awe. Yesterday I drank a lot of swimming pool water.

IV. I have wasted substantial portions of my last many days trying to figure out travel plans within the country - to the mountains, to the sea shores, to all places wonderous and beautiful. Such planning is challenging here - where communication is little with the french speaking nation. Also, people are not in need for business and hang up on an english speaker, do not respond to email queries etc.; train timetables are horrendous, and non-Paris connectivity poor. Finally I have given up. I have realised that if I were not constantly trying to have a better life, I could actually have a really good life.

V. What is it about Ambers - of tree saps from aeons ago, of the solidified, and transparent molten golds  ,that fascinates us so? Just the beauty? Or is it the perished prehistoric bugs and insects it once embedded inside? Or the imaginary trees whose sap once flowed so freely and golden? I bought some Amber jewelry and hold it to the light, peer within its mottled inside to wean out its secrets, from times when dinosaurs roamed a swampy land, dragons roared fire, fish were learning to fly and earth was still a fantasy land. I wear on my ear to hear its whispered secrets, dangle it close to my heart and wear it on my finger to remind me that fantasy once existed - and maybe it still does.

18"x30"

We live in a tiny apartment in Metz, which has an arboretum, an art studio, nursery and kitchen garden - all on 18"x30".  I now have all I need.

Autumn Begins

Can death be this flamboyant?
Can a finale, this bold?
Does age not pale,
and wither the old?

With brazen audacity
they face winter's cold,
rubies sparkle on garnet vines
ambers fleck with gold.

I smile at such promise,
for fruition of life's manifold;
it is not yet my time, to glimpse
truth or eternity behold.

Sisters

We are four, and I am the eldest - of all girls.  My parents were trying to have a boy.

I am told that I was once asked how many sisters I had, and I had responded " Many".

Recently however I have come to realise that this "many" is just exactly right; each has played a distinct and an important role in nurturing different facets of my human growth - by teaching me grace and compassion; by deepening and widening my reverence for art and beauty; and in challenging the frontiers of my intellect - respectively and combinedly.

I have always appreciated my sisters, and love them dearly. Now, I also know I owe them.  Even one less would have left me - less.

Footsteps

We were in France then - when I heard the footsteps first. We lived in a tiny apartment on the top floor of student housing - in a large sprawling university campus. It was about two weeks since we had arrived and we were more or less settled in our temporary home. We went to bed around 11pm - and it must have been a couple of hours after that. I was still awake, still trying the various relaxation techniques of an insomniac, slow breathing, accu-pressure points, counting sheep, when I heard footsteps above, walking the length of corridor, climb down a flight of stairs and come down our corridor. They approached with a firm step towards our apartment - and stopped. There was an ominous silence of a presence, right outside, at the doorstep  - waiting. I stopped breathing - eyes wide awake - frozen in terror, in the freezing room. He slept quietly and peacefully - within touching distance. I stared at him, trying to calm down, and don't remember when I fell asleep. Next morning I laughed off my silly fears, blaming it on my overactive imagination.

I remember that day well - it was cold, and brilliant. I went for a walk, spoke to family back home and painted. It was a good day. The disquiet began even as evening approached. Darkness spread outside and within. I told him about last night and was hugged and reassured - maybe someone was just walking past to their own apartment? and decided to walk quietly, to not disturb people? I gratefully accepted the explanation. In bed, I clutched on to his hand and decided to be good and get a whole night's sleep. Surprisingly I fell asleep, fairly soon.

I woke up - completely alert - with someone knocking in my head. The footsteps were slowly climbing down the long flight of stairs and making their way down our corridor. It was a little after 1 am. I quickly covered my head with a quilt and lay wide eyed in inky black blindness, covered with a thin film of sweat.  The footsteps approached firmly and assuredly to our door and stopped. The suspense became finally unbearable. I softly shook him and whispered "someone is outside. Being used to my theatrics, he woke up and went to take a look. There was no one outside. I felt foolish at disturbing him and held on to his hand and finally managed sleep.

After that I decided to not to wake him up. The footsteps however continued - till we left the place.

I had always prided myself on being a rationalist - but our floor had no flights of steps going up and there was no upstairs.

First Impressions:Images from Metz

First Impressions from France

We are on our way to Metz, France. At the Charles de Gaulle airport, Paris, we have a four hour layover:
I sit - a speck in a giant and mobile patchwork quilt - of fractured people and voices. Vaccuous silent bands mark inviolable spaces dividing people of different colors, races, language, culture, religion and style; it is a study of high contrasts, and separations, lacking an artist's touch of synthesis to create a vibrating and a living, whole.

It is Sunday. Everything is closed in Metz:
We are on a deserted planet - with wide empty roads, an occasional racing car, bus or an unbearable  rearing motorcycle. We walk closer together, than we have done since our youth, bonded by our strange mooring in this silent, sterile and non-peopled world.

Nature, on the other hand, revels in our enchantment and blooms, many thousand times over. Leaves hint at crimson and gold, swans glide, and a hundred birds take off in chorused flight - just for us.  We are hungry on only chocolate bars, coffee and pastry. Would die to have sambhar-rice. I buy an extravagant potted plant - purple-black Calle lilies now bloom in our tiny and barren studio apartment. I sleep hungry, but with a smile......... 1 Sept 2013........

After a First Week:

The population of Metz is 2 lakh. We have seen people now. Most smile and say "bonjour" without making eye contact. Restaurants and beauty parlors abound - including parlors for kids, and pets. I must say that people are really interesting to look at; everyone is so interested in practicing a personal style - from the ultra sophisticated and refined, to really weird and funky. People do seem to care very much about how they look, to others, and that makes them interesting to watch. Yesterday, we sat eating pizza with a rose wine, at a sidewalk pizzeria and watched people. We might be the only boring ones in this city. Today, I have kohled my eyes jet black and no longer feel a drab sparrow.

One could never successfully have such street side cafes in US, but one could in India.
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I was stopped on two consecutive days by security and asked to open up my bags..I try to not feel bad. Their racial prejudice is part of their job and profiling it requires of them. Yet, I consider that I do not look like a thief or even needy, by most standards. Maybe because I am so thin...? and not because I am brown? Clive used to laugh and say I looked like a famine victim from Africa.

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I enjoy wandering by myself. Have a sense of their land shape, soil color and texture, the unexpected dense copses of trees with dark mystery, the deeply interesting and forgotten cemetery with ancient gravestones, stained glass, ivy and flowers. In a over-organised layout, I search for dirt roads and shortcuts, sniff out abandoned cottage and still blooming poppies in mowed fields. I search under trees for sweet plums warmed by the sun - and pop them into my mouth, unwashed..ambrosia! Pears weigh down heavily and knock my head; orchards are filled with apples that no one wants.
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I am tired of all things complex and human...and "too much mind".  Visited the Pompidou Museum for Contemporary Arts...seems like so much thinking and analyses of all human processes. All the western psycho-analyses seem to be mere fabrications of bored minds - and then others analysing the original analyses, and so on...really, societies with too much time and too little to do - a veritable devils workshop. All this thinking, and still they continue to wage wars on real human beings, based on duplicity, lies and for profit and power. What has all this thinking really taught anyone?

I sit meditating on "No Mind"                      ............9 Sept 2013

Hunger - Up Close

I returned from Kolkata a week back. I am still haunted by the man sitting across from me, in the second class non-AC sleeper, on Yeshwantpur-Howrah Express. The train left Howrah around 8:30 pm, and I lay down on the lower berth with my newly acquired old Tanpura - in its brand new black case. I lay side by side with my instrument,  legs curled around its Lau base, comfortable and aware - to not damage this precious instrument. Three seats/berths were still empty.

When I awoke next morning, a new set of passengers had arrived to fill up all berths, and all passages and spaces between the berths; two people were sleeping in the two feet width separating berths, on the floor, sideways, comfortably and intimately, as the poor still know how. Later, I learnt that they were strangers to each other - squeezed together in their desperate need for sleep.

The man across me, at the opposite window seat must be forty - at most. He was dark, gaunt, with tight skeleton hands - all veins protruding. He wore his thin dark, well oiled hair in an unusually long fashion, curling at his ears and back. His clothes were worn thin - but neat. His eyes were hollow, slanty with pronounced lids. Lips were tiny, nose small, cheekbones wide and pronounced, emphasised by hollow cheeks. He was small - and light - and yet there was physical strength of a manual laborer or even a skilled crafts person.

What shook me, internally, as the day progressed, was that the man did not eat - at all. Nor did his companion - a skinny youth 18-20 years old. The man in the top berth seemed to be their boss, younger, well fed and sleeping - he seemed to be taking them to some job near Bangalore. When the young man ordered lunch for the two of them, the man in the top berth shouted that there was no way he was spending this amount of money feeding them; he cancelled their orders and kept a single order of lunch. Breakfast happened, and then snacks, and then lunch - people had either ordered railway food or had some food packed with them. The compartment of eight typically had five additional people - all ate, chatted, dozed, slept. I enjoyed the window seat with a stiff breeze and rolling countryside, hills, trees, water bodies, birds of wide variety - lots of cranes, herons, snake birds - black, still and wings wide spread. I was also constantly bothered by my two hungry companions. The young guy had wolfed down a small bag of puffed rice that he had with him - but the older guy ate nothing. While we ate, they obstinately stared out of the windows - often times their gullets moving as they swallowed at particular enticing smells of samosas, coffee, masala moori, biryani. The guy on the top berth ate his full lunch and again slept.

I had never witnessed hunger - or this kind of starvation - in anyone, before. It shook me that this was what it looked like - tear less, anger less, hopelessly bleak and gnawing. This hunger was proud, withering and stoic. I ate with shame the theplas my mom had made for me - with love, corrainder, hing and other masalas - light, fragrant, and delicate.

Around 5pm, the young man softly asked the older guy "maybe he will atleast give us Tea?" and the man replied " but there is too much shame in asking..". They both remained engrossed in their hunger - silent and  blank.

I overcame my personal embarrassment and bought them food - for the rest of the journey. The young guy, objected, only mildly. Neither met my eyes - but took the food - turned away and ate. Next morning, I was woken up with a light pat on my arm, and a face lit by a gentle smile " don't miss your stop - we are leaving"

I am still haunted by that face - chiseled by years of hunger - of a proud and working man, with nothing to eat. That too in this - India Shining.

Murals of Bellanwila and Kelaniya :Sri Lanka

Outside Colombo, unknown and undiscovered by most (except the religious and devout), are two stunning temples - gems of homage to Sri Lankan Buddhist art and faith - at Bellanwila and Kelaniya. I came across these names by a rare chance - it was pouring in Kandy and I took shelter in a fairly obscure bookshop. Time passing, till the rains stopped, I was browsing through their collection of Sri lankan art and came across academic and rare books on these two temples. I pursued their location through the government travel desk to be magnificently rewarded by their spectacular murals - of rich, vibrant and vivid colors and art work of finest and utterly satisfying aesthetic sensibilities. The photographs below give only a little sense of the amazing visual feasts, on offer at Bellanwila and Kelaniya

Bellanwila

Kelaniya Temple: