Kanpur-Lucknow Read-Meet

The Kanpur Lucknow read-meet was the smallest read-meet, but also one of the largest. It had a surprisingly international character. There were four (almost) real participants, five phone-in participants, and a number of submissions by others were read out.

The meet was great great great fun.

Of the real participants, four is actually an exaggeration, for at any given point of time, there were only three. To start, Natasha the lucknavi chikan a.k.a the "rogA yoga", Dan the thespian danish, and Amit the khuTo. Half way through, we were joined by Danish's brother Banish, but Danish himself had to leave then (he had a train to catch for Delhi), so we were left with Banish for the rest of the evening. In between some of Dan's friends called - Ritu and Pragya - the latter we even converted to a read-in participant...

Watermelons - yes. Tunda ki kabab from Lucknow - yes. Cold Gazpacho soup, pasta with veggies in white sauce - yes. Peach tea, Camomile. Ending with a dash of Baileys. Yes.

We can't say it enough. The read-meet was great fun!

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Notes from the Read-Meet

Please click on the title/author to read the pieces. Hit the [BACK] button on your browser to come back to where you were when you went to read.

You can also hear some of the readings.

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The Licking (short story)
by Max Babi (sent-in)
(read with great aplomb, by Dan)

Describes a visit to the loo in a jungle in Gujarat.  A python comes
up and licks his bottom as he is shitting.  Danger of castration.

The initial station pickup is OK but does not relate.  Items like the
Nepalese princess etc add to believability, but the dinner table on it
is gripping.  

Perhaps it could begin with the dinner table and the leopard sounds
and weave in the other details. 

Great innovative switch from leopard to python. 

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Loneliness
by Shubhada Dharwadkar (sent-in)
(read by Natasha)

Metaphor of snake for loneliness is very effective. 
The poem works, and the image of pain that makes one unfeeling is
powerfully rendered. 
The use of first person "I" could be restrained perhaps. 
Some minor tightening would help, e.g. "run away" --> "run",etc. 

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Chilika Estuary
by Anjan Ray (sent-in)

The poem works as a anthromorphic metaphor of nature.  It connects
simple natural objects - the sun, the stars, the wind, etc, well-worn
words - but the metaphors work - e.g. "clouds in the mist that shroud
your hair" or the "golden crown on windblown hair".

"The stars are mirrored on your breast" ending is fitting for this
poem of nature.

One wishes the original Bangla was also there to see how the
translation deals with the ideas. 

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Raamesh Gowri Raghavan
Divorce (short story, sent-in)
[read by Dan]

The story has an interesting theme, the male discomfiture at the woman
who earns more money.  It is also told in a deadpan style, with a lot
of funny spots, such as the pie in the bitumen, that make it
readable. 

But on the whole the motivation for the woman's expenses, or the man's
jealousy as a theme is used like a blunt weapon, and it deadens the
reader after several repetitions. 

The title of the story "Divorce" - gives the punch line away, and one
is merely waiting to see how the divorce is to come out.  Perhaps the
narrative could develop how the differences between man and wife are
exacerbated over time, leading to the divorce.

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Arusha
Sweet Memories (sent-in)
(read by amit)

The poem is surprisingly mature for a six year old.  The sadness
reflected in this stanza:

	  But if we don't spend time
	  with each other
	  We become angry
	  And then we end up with sad memories

is extremely mature.  It is written about someone in the child's life,
and clearly there is some anguish here.  But look how positively it
ends: 

	  So let us enjoy this moment
	  And let the sweet memories
	  Touch our heart

----

I sing this song
(read by Natasha)

A smile - give it away and it comes back, is related to the magic
rupee - the material thing - that comes back, enriched.  Draws a
parallelism very nicely, a very mature structure for the 

A very talented child.  Mom and daughter started writing at the same
time. 

Natasha: How did this poem come out?  In trying to make the mother
smile. 

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manisha lakhe (call-in from hyderabad)
exploding toads (in ghazal format)

sonia menezes - works on genes - making mutant toads - uses them to
take revenge.  A funny doggerel, well executed. 

See the 
other entries in this ghazal exercise. 

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ashish gorde (call-in from bahrain)
cafe serendipity

"silence hung in the air like the jazz tunes"

Got this idea while sitting at Starbucks, which is a great place to
observe people - the superficiality and the humdrum. 

Natasha likes "latte lips".  Dan: why do women always like this
phrase?  Ashish: You know why I wrote it?  I put it in just because it
works as an alliteration.  [Amit's comment:  I don't think anything in
poetry is so simple - why do those thoughts pop up in the mind to
begin with?]

See the huge 
fan gathering for this poem from the caferati board. 

---

A love poem
(old poem from the attic: 1986)
http://www.ryze.com/postdisplay.php?messageid=901508&confid=1199

weep alone silently

waiting to snatch the substance you are made of

you whisper, I hear....

---

Topkapi (by popular demand)

centuries of conquest - become the parable of inevitable decay. 

A few centuries back this must have been a center for the high
and mighty - there was so much power and pomp.  
Ashish: And today anyone can enter it with a ticket.

The desolation reminds one of ozymandias.  Also Italo Calvino's
"Invisible Cities". 

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Thunder
Amrit 
(read by Dan: "drop-dead gorgeous girl")

A hint of rains, wetness, umbrella. 

There is a storm both inside and outside, which makes this work. 
A hint of hesitation. 

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Tomorrow's Dream
Natasha 

A love poem - a swaying motion. 

The concept of the language of two bodies as truth is interesting. 

----

words

the theme of words is universal and everyone can relate to it. 
The first para, with the concept of meek words not speaking out,
is a good one.  The ending - "minds archives" may be a bit weak. 

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amit mukerjee
fragmented words I 
translated from namita choudhury by amit mukerjee

image: words imprison the author 

dan is reminded of a marsiya (epic poems - marsiyakhAni - martyrdom
related to the Hussain brothers' Moharram).  In a Marsiya by Mir Wahid
that opens: "o pen - come on paper again, and spread your jewels
here", there is a point when Imam Hussain is entering the battle, and
he describes how the alphabets themselves are frightened by the sight
of battle, and aleph tries to hide behind be, etc.

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dan hussain
Saul bellow - obituary
(appeared in Tehelka, April 2005.  Online copy not available)

personalized introduction works well.  
quotes Charles Simic in the end: the heroes of Saul Bellow and
Dostoyevsky refuse to 
exchange their inner torment that comes with bourgeois propriety or
religious belief. 

----

the trivia of a brooding mind
dan hussain 

there is a hint at the comfort of solitude and the hesitation
to trade it in for companionship. 

Hear the 

great comments on this piece from the caferati board. 

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amit kapoor
use me (sent-in)
(read by Dan)

the basic idea of using a commonplace object is a powerful idea, but
the execution does not work out.  The expression is not vigorous
enough, and resorts to too many cliches. 

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vinod (call-in from Pune)
blind 

there is also a hint of hesitation in this poem. 

By this time we were beginning to feel that the dominant theme
in this read-meet was that of hesitant exploration. . 

----

silent sins 
(read by Natasha with the poet, Vinod, on line)

the hint of uncertainty - makes the poem very powerful - after the
pleasure, comes doubt and hesitation. 

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vijay nair (call-in from Delhi)
wait - some snippets 
(written taja taja)

Many shades of waiting. the 
snippet 1 introduces a degree of uncertainty
"she waits for a tomorrow - uncertain."
The third snippet is particularly powerful - and the end suddenly
surprises:    
    the seconds seemed hours
    till she smiled and took his hand"   

Also see these tAjA comments from AKN. 

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pragya thakur (call-in from New York City)
starting over

very powerful constructs - "monochrome destiny" 

see more comments on this poem from the caferati board



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once again the mind seeks a word
(translation from faiz)

Dan reads the original - 
"Aj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal".

[Hear Dan read it](399KB, WAV file)

the translation does justice to the original.  the poem itself
is very powerful.  the English rendering seems to work. 

---

even this was possible

Dan: The image of the night as the ocean washing over the sand is a
powerful one.  But "the skeleton" is too negative - too strong an
image - that of a carcass on the beach of night - and it disturbs.
There is a fond indication then of what was possible - and the dark
image of skeleton does not go with it.  Could we possibly replace
"skeleton" with something that has decay, but it also has some value,
which goes with the next line.

Natasha: I think the skeleton jars, but it wakes one up. 

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dan hussain - poem by Akbar NasirAbadi
Agre-kI-kAkRI

This poem is from the play "Agra Bazaar" by Habib Tanveer.  It is
about the kakri - the cucumber like fruit of N Indian summers. Dan
also read out the last poem in this play, also by Akbar Nasirabadi,
about the folly of men.

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The read-meet ended with a cup of bailey's, served AKN style in
earthen khullars... 

See notes/index above for links and comments.

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max babi
The Licking (short story)


Ronnie peeped out from the train. The pre-dawn sunrays in their
budding glory had painted the harsh landscape of Eastern Gujarat in
whitish gray.  He asked a fellow traveler, lighting up a cigarette : 
" How far is Dahod?" 
" Next station "  said the surly fat cop, and added as an
after-thought, " twenty minutes."  
Ronnie thanked him and planned out further moves.

His uncle would meet him there, and both would drive down to Garbada,
a nowhere place where the thick forests begin. He didn't much care for
these vast expanses, hilly terrain and what was certainly worse, the
tiger-infested jungles.  

No sooner the train had come to  a screeching halt, he saw his fat
short and stocky uncle Pesi waving at him wildly as if he were in a
tearing hurry...  we have all the time in the world, thought Ronnie,
this family business was driving him nuts. His father had been
diagnosed with a terminal illness and signature of Pesi uncle was
needed to settle some property dispute. 
" Kemchhe dikra?"  Pesi gave him a resounding slap on the back and
shook his hand with an intention to tear it right out of its socket,
thought Ronnie gingerly pulling away. 

" Sojju majaaman" said Ronnie as they climbed into the 1930 vintage
Willys car which mystified the Bombay kid a lot. They used to make
Jeeps, he had asked  the  uncle once,  how come a sedan ?  Pesi as he
was prone to  had played hide and seek with him with obtuse answers
finally agreeing this was from an experimental batch that was later
abandoned from the manufacturing program.

" It can carry three bloody blue bulls if I remove the backseats,"
said the red-faced hunter. Ronnie didn't care much for this pastime
either. Sitting in pubs drinking beer and ogling college girls was a
better pastime, he had once told the rambunctious uncle -who had tried
to get him interested in the tribal beauties... .. terrible beauties
Ronnie had said and shrugged his shoulders. He hated the people here
too.

Ronnie's   mind wandered whilst the hunter waxed eloquent about the
advanced features of some stupid rifle or  double barrel gun. He even
started humming a film song, doing up his hair with a fancy new comb,
trimmed his nails daintily -not listening to Pesi uncle, bursting into
obscene guffaws over nothing. Your bally sense of humour puts me off,
he tried to convey without words. ESP did not work on the ex-ranger
who had tuned a timber merchant.

" You wanna hear a funny story,  sonny boy?"  asked the hunter
facetiously  and the city dude nodded yes. 

" Well we have this moronic neighbour, Pravin Shah who is a strict
vegetarian... . Sort of a guy who keeps scooting in just to ask me or
your Minu aunt what animal are we cooking today. Har har har ... " 

Ronnie squirmed in his seat. The impending anecdote has to be  unfunny
- but the hunter went on disregarding the burning looks.
" One day me and my bosom pal Rustom decided to play a trick on the
unsuspecting yokel. We took him along,  saying we wanted to see
farmhouse on sale.  He was horrified when he realized in the heart of
the wilderness we had  other ideas...  har har har... ."
Ronnie stared at the uncle uncomprehendingly.

" So we opened our Scotch whiskeys and sodas, and nearly well got
plastered before the shoot. By then the beastly Rustom was seeing
double, I am sure. He would shoot at standing bloody blue bull and
miss it wide. I wanted a running dear to shoot at -no fun shooting a
standing critter. "

Pesi whilst driving, deftly removed  a half bottle of rum and took a
swig. He offered it to Ronnie, who politely declined.
" Kem? Soo thayu? You got holes in your liver like your dad?"  he
asked teasingly.
" Naaa- re,  Pesi uncle."  Said Ronnie defensively, " it is latest
girl friend of mine, a Nepali princess, who has laid me off liquor."
Pesi doubled over laughing, tears streaming down his face. 
" Surely you must be joking Mr. Daruvala, " said he amidst choking
chuckle, " with such a name, how dare you spread wild stories about
giving up drink for a mere woman... "  He actually used an impolite
name for the seat femininity in a woman...  ahem.

Ronnie reared up with a look of rightful indignation but the country
bumpkin went on regardless.

" Ah so we went hunting after that and in a drunken mood Rusi,  handed
over the gun to the grass-eater as we know Pravinbhai.  With a lot of
dire threats from us both the Gujubhai finally aimed at what Rusi said
was a bloody rabbit standing and peeing like a dog, whilst the baniya
said it was something else.  Rabbits cannot pee like that... "
"And then... ?" 
"And he aimed and shot. The recoil made him jump up like a horse that
has treaded soft ground, and the rifle went up in the air, crashing
barrel down on Rusi whose skull seemed cracked." 
" uh huh... "
" Well the animal lay dead, we thought,  so I ran to get it, whilst
Pravin  rolled on the ground overcome with sheer fright -and you won't
believe this son, it was a milestone he had shot ! I brought back a
piece of the stone to show Rusi who was certain this was a rabbit. We
thanked out lucky stars that his skull wound was superficial."
 
They reached home, and unhurriedly finished a royal lunch waiting for
them -it had taken them two hours after breakfast time and Minu aunt
had cooked a huge feast for the nephew. He gaffed with them and
discussed the property dispute and they had to break up for the
siesta.

He thought he had died.
The peace and serenity, plus the heavy meal took their toll. He lay
motionless in a four-poster with brass angels on the posts and a thick
mosquito net covering the whole thing, till sun had set and the forest
sounds began.

What was that? He asked himself after he had analyzed all the chirrups
and creaky noises as insects. A growling sound came from nearby. He
summoned a servant who informed him it was  a leopard, who often came
to the bushes nearby and stole some chicken. Ronnie shuddered, and
anxiously enquired if he would be required to go out for
anything. These houses  were made by the British who were mad, thought
Ronnie, and who loved sauntering in the wild at night too. The servant
said no and dissolved into thin air again.

Again a heavy meal, after an eternity of drinking whiskey with soda,
chilled in a fridge that worked on Kerosene, imported from Israel,
Pesi uncle had bragged. Some more hunting stories, and penetrating
queries from Minu aunt about his bachelor-hood followed. Gossip was
traded.

Suddenly Ronnie remembered , he had not been to the loo...  and sure
enough, after some time he felt the need to go and visit the toilet
which was at the far end of the house. The leopard's roar seemed
uncomfortably close from there...  but he summoned up strength to go.

" Take this,"  said Pesi uncle, thwowing a rifle at him.
" Why?" asked Ronnie, " the smell of shit attracts leopards?" 
" Har har har... "  went the half drunk uncle, " when in jungles you
do what we ask you to do... "
Ronnie argued right back, and left for the toilet.
It was built outside the buildimg! When the servant led him to the
loo, it turned out to be a tin box on top of about five steps, with a
steel tube connected to the bottom of the ancient commode which was
the Indian style basin-like pot, connected to a  U-tube shaped steel
pipe to keep small animals out. The excreta fell into a ditch below,
cleared daily by another servant.

He hesitated and argued with himself. Should he sit inside a dark loo
with tigers and leopards prowling outside without a gun? Or ask the
man servant to stand there?

It would be tantamount to losing face-he decided to go and shit
without clinging on to a rifle.

He asked for a torch, and the servant promptly got him a huge one. He
switched it on with the sliding switch and pointing it up to the roof,
left it standing in a corner. He relieved himself, wondering if it was
constipation. The process turned out to be a long one, for he had been
sleeping in the train for almost twenty four hours.

At first he thought it was his imagination, for fear plays tricks with
human mind. But when it happened twice or thrice, he grabbed the torch
and pointed it below his butts, he froze in terror. A huge python had
crawled up the steel tube and was darting its ominous tongue here and
there. Twice it had licked his bottom, accidentally. Ronnie lost his
nerve, and screamed in terror. He sat there screaming his head off,
barely able to move. He dared not look below -the creature may be
already inches closer... 
Luckily for him, he had kept the door ajar, which was now brutally
torn open by Pesi uncle, pleasantly drunk holding his dear rifle in
his hands.
" Where is the leapard?"  he asked.
Ronnied pointed to his bottom. The hunter, disbelievingly repeated the
query. 
" Ajgar... . Maari gaand nichay...  ! "  Ronnie whispered.
Pesi uncle, instead of shooting, started laughing his manical
laugh. Ronnie wanted to kill him and chew him up raw. But right now
the python was more of a danger. Again he screamed with all his
might. Minu aunty came running down. He made quite a spectacle.
" I am going to shoot the bastard -"  said Pesi and leveled his gun. 
" And if you miss ?"  asked Minu aunty.
Now a new terror gripped Ronnie, what if he misses? He would shoot the
balls right off me !
" Don't shoot! "  he screamed, " I still have to get married, and
raise children... . "

Pesi froze for a moment. This was the devils' alternative what with
whiskey shots and this crazily dim light, he could miss too; it took
him a second to decide, the born hunter that he was. He aimed hard at
the python's head next time it came bobbing up and pressed the
trigger. The noise of the blast made Ronnie come to his senses, who
jumped out with or without balls, he didn't care.  By then some men
had run around the other side and were pulling the lifeless python out
from the steel tube that held onto him like a well fitting vest.

Pesi uncle stylishly blowing smoke from the barrel looked down at the
cowering city youngster, hald clad and hald dead with fright.
"Wipe your arse son, and join us for some drinks."

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

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shubhadha dharwadkar

Loneliness

As the shadows lengthen, I long to run away 
From that pit of darkness from which 
Uncoils the Serpent of Loneliness 
I tremble, I quake, I stand motionless
At the thought of the inky blackness
That seems to breathe life into this slithering form.

I try to run away but my leaden body is too benumbed
To protect myself from the Serpent's fangs.
Bemused, I stare blankly as the venom swiftly and surely
Enters my body, turning my blood to ice.
I watch in silence as Life ebbs out of me
Leaving a solitary tear frozen on the tips of my eyelashes.

 
[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

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Anjan and Arunima Ray
(read by amit mukerjee)

A poem by Nalini Ranjan Bera
Translated by Anjan Ray and Arunima Ray


5. Chilika Estuary

Solitary child in a golden-green playground 
Sheltered by the hills
Sprinkled by monsoon showers
Tanned ochre by a sweltering sun
Giggling ever so often to yourself
In private delight.

Perfume drifts across in the breath of the zephyr
Calls me in whispered inebriated phrases 
But you hide your face as you steal my mind
And your maids-in-waiting dance in attendance
Beguiling me beyond belief

When you shed your gossamer gown
Of clouds and mists that shroud your lair
The sun places a golden crown 
In swirls of your wild windblown hair

My heart beats in unbearable joy
Happiness awaits the stillness of night
Upon your breast the stars are mirrored
Within the dreams of this bewitched knight.


[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

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Raamesh Gowri Raghavan
Divorce

"Sir, with these words, I commend the Budget to the House", with these
words  P. Chidambaram, Finance Minister of India  sat down, after a
raucuous parliament session, which saw him repeat "Thus a person" over
and over again because the opposition was, well, opposing him. Prema
took her eyes off the T.V. She had heard the happiest news from the
government in a long time. She earned Rs.1,17,000 per year, and thus
fell within the 1,25,000 per year tax-exemption ceiling now. Sathish
was somewhat indifferent, and looked forward to the detailed analyses
that would follow in the next day's papers to find out how much
lighter or heavier his wallet was going to be. He found out that he
was to pay ten percent of the 1,20,000 he earned every year, or had to
save it up in some tax-free savings scheme. 

It all seemed fine. Nothing was going to change after all in their
lives... the same humdrum existence was going to continue. The daily
rush to catch the bus, his wife's bitching and nagging when she came
home from her office, and the perennial anxiety that she would get
some increment or bonus that would raise her income above his. Both
were government servants, and this anxiety was not justified really
since he was a year senior, but then a male's anxiety is known only to
the male that suffers it, be it human or leopard or papaya. 

Then the analyses were read over and over again, and the implications
internalised. Sathish made a painful realisation. He was required to
stash away Rs.12,000 every year as 'Investment' to outwit the tax-man,
and his wife had had to save similarly too. Now however, while he had
to save as he did every year, his wife was free to keep or spend her
money whichever way she wanted, and no anxieties would dog her
anymore. The idea of a worry-free life for his wife galled his sense
of superiority. 
 
Earlier they had spent and saved in exactly the same way, which left
his wife worse off all the time. Apart from the thirty thousand each
that they saved and the family expenses they shared equally, they kept
a small fraction every month for what they described as capricious
expenditure - money they could lavish on themselves. He blew Rs. 1000
every month on cigarettes and entertaining friends and so on, while
she scrimped and scrooged her 750 a month to buy herself silk sarees
and other adornments which she fancied. He insisted "I have the right
to spend more because I earn more, dearie" but an argument for
proportional expenditure on other heads fell on deaf ears. Secretly,
as husbands do, he enjoyed her slight discomfort. 

"Now that fool Chidambaram had ruined everything" he thought to
himself. The 12,000 that was Chidambaram's share in Prema's salary was
no more his. She had the entire freedom to use the dough the way she
felt like. Like a woman, though, she was parsimonious. She said to
herself  "I would stash away 6,000 for my future, when I'm going to be
a white-saree wearing widow, given that I cannot expect Sathish to
live long the way he goes about chain-smoking and driving rashly, but
the remaining 6,000 is now going to be mine, and I am going to spend
it the way I want to. No need to save up for sarees and stuff
now. Those lovely Bentex ear-rings I saw on Gokhale Road the other
day. I don't have to wait till next month." 

She descended half-way from the bus on her way home, stepped into the
shop, and bought them without a wince. She hadn't behaved like this in
years, and felt happy about it. Sathish was indifferent when she
showed it to him, but livid secretly. "Stupid woman. Here I am, trying
desperately to make ends meet on my thousand a month - what does she
know of beer prices. And that idiot has raised taxes on cigarettes
again. Ha! And she now gets to spend 1750 every month on silly sarees
and fake jewels and all that. Just how much jewelry would a woman
want?" Prema hadn't told him about her widowhood plans, but
nevertheless, she did have more pocket-money, and that hurt. A man may
bear physical pain more easily than a woman, but the slightest prick
to his ego will inspire in him the passion of the Christ.. 

Life became unbearable for him as the months passed. Every month she
was buying some trinket or the other, either golden or silverware,
while he had to manage somehow. Expenses were rising, and he sometimes
had to borrow money from his friends to pay off his bar bills. He
tried reasoning with Prema, and tried to suggest that she should save
up her money for the future, or use more of it for household expenses,
which were shooting through the roof. "Big deal! Why should I be the
one to adjust my finances? You change your contribution first. The
money you spend on daru you can buy your children's schoolthings. You
remodel the way you spend your income, and I'll match you." So
reasoning was not working. 

By now it was time to file returns, and then the pain really
started. The mad rush to obtain saral forms, filling them up,
attaching proofs of his expenses and savings to justify why the
government had no right to pick his wallet. Then came that absolutely
unendurable queue at the income-tax office to file his returns, the
office being at Teen Hath Naka and his position in the queue was at
Malhar. He was several yards away from the counter, the 5:00 PM
deadline was just three hours away, and the clerk was fighting with an
assessee. The end-of-March Sun was trying desperately to get the
bitumen on the road to boil, trying perhaps to make a special dish
made of humans and pie-dogs stewed in tar. It couldn't get any
worse. And Prema needn't undergo any of this anymore.

The honourable finance minister had given males no relief in the next
budget, and Sathish was hoping that someone would get a
contract-killer to put all males in the country out of their
misery. It was terrible. Though he actually earned more than his wife,
he couldn't spend more than her. And in his office, when other chaps
found out they teased him. "Hey Zuralmare, heard your wife earns more
than you!"  "No Baba, I earn 250 more than her every month, I have one
year's seniority you see" "Yeah but she pays no tax, and you have to,
right? She can actually spend more than you?"  It wasn't quite true,
but he couldn't bother to explain.

Two years of this state of affairs wore heavily on his mind, and he
finally appealed for divorce. The case was heard with interest may
therefore be dismissed."

After very careful consideration, the judge, who was a salaried
government-employed male with an earning wife himself, announced
"Plaintiff's case is justified and divorce is granted".

- Raamesh Gowri Raghavan, 2005

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

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Arusha
 
[Arusha is Natasha's daughter, age 6]

Sweet Memories
(read by Amit Mukerjee)

Sweet memories
Touch our heart
And make us happy

They make our day sweet
Because we all love each other
If we love each other
There sweet memories
Touch our heart
Like when we spend time
with each other

Then when we are alone
We miss
the sweet memories
But they still
touch our heart

But if we don't spend time
with each other
We become angry
And then we end up with sad memories

So let us enjoy this moment
And let the sweet memories
Touch our heart

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

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manisha lakhe
exploding toads

[This attempt at Gazal is inspired by Max's post on exploding frogs and
 Sonia's passion for injecting glow-in-the-dark stuff into mice genes. ]

When mutant mice took to the roads,
Sonia created those exploding toads!

Cells mutate, so do our woes
Just like those exploding toads!

Not for money, but Al-jazeera shows,
Are those incredible exploding toads!

They slighted my talent, now everyone knows
Says Sonia of the exploding toads!

UNSC at her feet, how her power grows,
Because of the damned exploding toads!

Revenge complete, how she glows!
The lady behind those exploding toads!

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

===================================================================
Ashish Gorde
Cafe Serendipity

unbelievable aesthetics glanced at me
across the murmuring tables, she seemed
cinnamon to my latte lips 
with a hint of sugar that her companion
could not recognise; tumbling dow jones
defined his frame of mind and her silence
a pertinent question that hung in their air
like the in-house jazz tunes 
no one else but the lonesome 
bother to listen. 

like ocean deep her eyes looked, blue
as the crying thought that often wails 
like a saxophone and watery translucent 
like a thought yearning to express; as if to say
life really needs to be more decaf sometimes,
an idea so alien in this place where we sat
like formless steam that disappears from quenching mugs
into the nether world of casual glances
and the paradise of what-ifs.


----

A love poem

I hear that you weep alone:
waiting and watching,
looking for something different
which you know you have felt
and understood,
which you can see and experience
making you happy
but there is something else
which you feel
that needs a correct and concrete expression,
something that defies questions and explanations,
something which makes your heart your very own
but not totally,
something which is part of your very own substance
that renders different and scattered bits of this and that
into something one,
which is unique and whole.
But I know and I have heard
that you weep alone silently
in the dark night
whispering to yourself
thoughts and words
that reach out to the prying atoms
waiting to snatch the substance
you are made of
making me think and look at you
with a different kind of illumination:
you whisper, I hear;
you reach, I hold;
you look, I understand
why words of laughter
spring suddenly on your face
almost like a ripple, no, a wave
that lashes on my rocky surface
and then dissolves
becoming one with the thin air.
But shall I ever know
why you cry so quietly alone
within yourself,
making me admire the soft features
your face makes
when you suddenly burst out laughing?
If tears are a consolation
or of some value
which you alone know
then shall I hold your weeping eyes
in the silence of my grasp
so you can find your comfort
in the unspoken assurance
of my love.


----

Topkapi

i searched for comfort in history's
forgotten backyard, a reckless debris
it was: angry stone and mute granite
cobbling together in an ornate dance,
and the wind like a swirling dervish
swaying with the fury of a woman
scorned. the ottoman walls wailed
over memories of miseries enacted here,
and over pleasures that were played out
by the banks of the nearby bosporus -
a pliable backdrop, if ever there was any,
to this decaying palatial harem 
where eunuchs and courtiers conspired
to stretch an empire beyond the marmara.
i was all alone when i witnessed all this
from my zephyr burnished perch, an impossible
privilege in the days of the sultan 
and now a mere salutary stop 
in a tourist's itinerary. i was perturbed,
to say the least, at what this meant
and found no comfort in pitying
the significance of this moment 
as i saw before my eyes
centuries of conquests collapse
into a parable of the inevitable.

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

===================================================================
Dan Husain
The Trivia of A Brooding Mind - The Complete Series

I
The Trivia... 

Perched on a mountain top
With icy winds
Against brazen cheeks
And a writhing river
Amidst mottled green
Life perhaps is a spectacle
And a handful of perspectives
That we bequeath
Our hearts’ each twist.

II
The Brooding... 

In the middle of
A dreary afternoon
I woke with a start.
My throat dry
Bruised with a thousand sighs
With voices within
Like a million cries –
Enough! I plug my ears
I wish to hear
Your euphonious voice
Before I slide into sleep again.

III
Falling Apart... 

Lost somewhere
In our efforts
To carve
Our separate worlds
Is perhaps
That nascent feeling
We lovingly nurtured
To drape
Our days with.

IV
A Spanner in The Works... 

It was just a face
No more than a pattern
An entity in space
Of many seen in a tavern
That waits its end
At the corner of a shabby street -
Morose, moribund -
Epitomizing mediocrity's defeat.
And though it reflected much,
It said nothing.
An average man's fate is such;
It's sealed before the morn begins.

V
A Scene at A Café... 
Epilogue

I place my hands on yours.
You quietly withdraw: unsure.
Our silence engulfs
A million wishes unsaid.
I wish to say
But you place your fingers
On my pouting lips –
“Don’t ask!
I have no answers.”
But when did I seek an answer,
I only pose the question –

What is life
If not
A glimmer of love
In your gaping eyes?

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

===================================================================

Amrit
Thunder

Conscious suddenly
of the stirrings within
of the clinging clothes
of even the brush of your hand
against mine.
Scared to glance up,
lest the eyes speak.
The breeze, even though gentle,
ruffles the hair
and your touch
as you smooth away the strands
from my cheeks,
is gentler still,
but unleashes a storm.
Your breath on my forehead,
where your lips linger
long enough to kiss the dew.
Was it the thunder
or just my heart?
As the rain beats down
upon the umbrella
beneath which we walk silently
together!!!

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

====================================================================

Natasha
Tommorow's Dreams

Saunter into your dreams
Give in to your whims
Whisper sweet-nothings

Kneading love's magical potion
Kindling a fire of passion
Swaying together in motion

Giving the heart yet another chance
Rocking into a seductive trance
Gazing into your eyes perchance

The truth they speak is sublime
Entwined together with time
Your heart melts into mine

---

Words

Words could play hide and seek
Too wary, too meek
Lest the unheard speak

Words could create a commotion
Dispelling unfathomable notions
Giving way to random thought potions

Words could slash like a knife
Creating much pain and strife
Spreading bitterness all around life

Words could simply propel smiles
Changing the course of many a lives
Leaving their imprints in mind's archives

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

====================================================================
Amit Kapoor
use me

I lie alone; -

Huddled in a corner,
With millions crossing me
Without a glance,
Without any regard.

Those who do, 
Garland me
With dried flowers
And leftovers.

I accept these
Showers -
And thank them
For aiding me fulfill my aim -

Of taking away the Dirt,
Of cleansing Life
Of the sickening stink
And troubling trash.

I thank them
For they read,
And followed my plea -
"Use Me, Please!"

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

=====================================================================
amit mukerjee

fragmented words I 
(original in Bengali: shudhu kathAi by namita chaudhuri,
This poem is from the book of translations, The Unsevered Tongue. )

the broken-wing alphabets 
are crying on the stairs
at my touch they shrivel
and shrink.  They slither down
breaking into fragments
at the bottom of the flight
lovingly I lift their chin
but they wail louder
what a bother this is 
let me shut my door then
but they slip out from everywhere
twisting and turning through fairy tales
breaking stories from newspapers
their ink dripping on my sari
I sit here helpless - 
a prisoner
of my own words

[Notes on this piece] 
----

Faiz
Aj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal  
(the original below, read out beautifully by Dan)

Aj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal  
Mad bharA harf koi, zahar bharA harf koi  
Dil-nashin harf koi, qahar bharA harf koi  
Aj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal  

harf-e-ulfat koi dildAr-e-nazar ho jaise  
jis-se milti hai nazar bosA-e-lab ki surat  
itna roshan ke sare-mauja-e-zar ho jaise  
sohbat-e-yaar me AghAz-e-tarab ki surat  
harf-e-nafrat koi shamsheer-e-ghazab ho jaise  
Aj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal   

tA AbAd shahre-sitam jis-se tabAh ho jAyen
itnA tariq ke shamshAn ki shab ho jaise
lab pe lAoon to mere honTh siyAh ho jAyen
Aj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal   


(translation: by amit mukerjee and kadambari sen)

once again the mind seeks a word
a word intoxicating, a word poison-filled
a word that endears, a word fearful
once again the mind seeks a word

a word of love, gazing like a lover
a kiss hidden in the eye,
a sparkle like burnished gold on the wave
once again the mind seeks a word

an eager word, waiting for the lover's touch
a word of hatred, raging like a scimitar
razing cities, razing people living in tyranny 
once again the mind seeks a word

a word of silence, raging like a storm
like night in the graveyard, a black word
a word that blackens my lips when uttered
once again the mind seeks a word


---
even this was possible

night brings the touch 
of your voice
perhaps a shiver
perhaps reproach
night brings a tide
of dark memories
like castles in the sand
night soothes them over
in new waves of trust
interspersed with blackness. 

and then in the real light of day
we look out
on the lost sands
somewhere, skeletons remain 
but we discover that at least
even this was possible. 

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

===================================================================
Pragya
Starting Over

Don’t fill these empty spaces,
Leave them alone for the moment,
Close your eyes,
Seek comfort in nothingness,
Finding reassurance in Spartan starkness.

This clutter of disguised insecurities,
Sweep it all aside this instant,
Absorb the clarity,
Of this pristine space,
Reveling in a momentary state of grace.

Now swirl your paintbrushes,
In hues unseen, step away,
From a monochrome destiny,
And create a terpsichorean vision,
Of twirling, twinkling, dancing passion.

No longer hesitant,
Nor afraid anymore, of new beginnings,
And life at its unrehearsed best,
Of leaping into the unknown abyss,
And taking final aim at everlasting bliss.

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

===================================================================
Vinod
 [a.k.a. "twisted humour"]
blind

i can see it in her smile
as she reads from a book
and then
unknowingly
lets loose her cascade of black
satin hair
with her other free hand

i can see it in her eyes
as they narrow and look
out of the window
oblivious
of the reddening
on her neck
caused by the warmth of my stare

i can see it in her fingers
as they pause
over the backspace key
hesitant, shaking, scared
to undo
what has already been done
in a dimension parallel to mine

i can see it in her gait
as her hips sway
to her forceful walk
trying to keep pace
with time
that is blowing through
the scented fabric
which hugs her

i can see her pain
-all that she wants me to see
without her showing it

I can see all of it
and she will never know...


----

Vinod
silent sins

As I lay breathing heavily
and watching her happy and spent
skin touching skin
lovers at their best
my lips snuggle to her ear
to whisper pure breath
and weave the best of phrases
but all I manage
is closed eyes and my nose on her nape
I smile a curse to my lack of words
because i want to tell her
about the sun and moon and stars
and
about how this is so delightfully wrong
but I say nothing at all
because our conversing breath
leaves me speechless
in verbatim voids with the universe
that makes love to me
through her

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

=====================================================================
Vijay Nair
Wait - some snippets

I. 

Those forlorn eyes,
riveted on a distant dream,
She waits
for a tomorrow, uncertain.

II.

Sun beating down his brow,
he looked at the clock.
Another long wait
for his turn to arrive.

III.

Mustering up courage,
he threw open his heart’s predicament.
The seconds seemed hours
till she smiled and took his hands.

IV.

Pacing up and down,
all he could see was disease and pain.
For the door to open, he waits,
for the operation to be over.

V.

Waiting in the shadows,
for the target to come in sight.
To fire that prized bullet
and obey the master’s command.

[Notes on this piece] [Writings Top]

=====================================================================

This Read-Meet report compiled by Amit Mukerjee April 30, 2005