If life is about exploration,i am ready to expedite the process........words might ease out the journey....
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Etched question
Monday, October 4, 2010
Singed desire
The worm licked the page
and slithered away.
The dusty aroma of ancient ink
of stale pages
assaulted my nostrils-
almost choked my memories.
But desirous i grew
with each draught
of words i gulped in.
The pages were up in flames
the world inflamed.
A curious stench of burnt flesh
and singed sleeves
began to ensconce the world........
yet it was not burnt-
the world i mean.
The worm appeared again
This time it licked it clean-
the word "desire".
Friday, October 1, 2010
Rotten wood
The streets squelched
with each soft step.
Leaves - dry and dead,
yield to the mushy earth.
Each foot impression
sinking into the soil.
Somewhere lay a broken wood.
Its edges rough and uneven
layered with moss it was -
green and blackened.
Ravages of time
pronounced in each drop of water
that encased in each curve
of the broken dead tree
that it was once
suffer to fester.
Time seems to clutch the wood
with rabid fierceness
and gentle commitment.
And yet the wood is no longer a tree
it was.
It is a dead plank
effusing softened smells,
aromatic whiffs -
that lay trapped
within cloud clusters,
that burst and seeped liquid mobile life.
Once when it was a tree.
Lushness of leaves - green and lively
that coloured the branches.
The wood lay there
smelling rotten -
the same, sweet smell of new life
that eagerly awaits death.
The wood like an yielding smile
lay propped on the
Ravages of time.
It awaits a fern
a mushroom
a seed
a lichen
to extract the left remnants
of life, nutrition.
To get released.
To be free.
To explore.
To discover.
To transform.
To transcend time
into timelessness.
A rare luxury
It was a Thursday evening. One of the days of the weeks when "knags"(Kamla Nagar market in the campus..........the shopping hub and fashion statement zone) brims with seething mass of students - bunking classes, hanging out, shopping madly,browsing bookshops, checking out "eye candies" etc. Interestingly, yesterday the coffee shops were pallid yellow, roadside vendors were busy wrapping up impossibly early. It was amusing, sad yet smug.
The few lines that haunted me yesterday were these:
The sky vomited pitch black tar.
The past few nights had been sooty -
rusty and baked with dry charcoal.
The nights were sinisterly dark -
murmuring threats and violent silences
into the infantile ears of dawn.
for quite some time now.
But tonight was different.
The moon peeped shyly
behind the clouds.
The monster regurgitated venomous stygian darkness
with intense hatred.
The crescent moon smiled
and rolled back.
A few moments later
the etherised table of the sky
yawned.
The moon emerged,
wrapping the night in its embrace.
Slowly,
Layer by layer the soot flaked.
Molten tar trickled down
With the ascent of the moon
the sky climbed down -
white as the lilies
limitless as truth....
I am happy that the moon
dared to smile.
Perhaps the mornings can
happen to be bright now.
Friday, September 17, 2010
rudan
पर नए रंगों की परत
यों पुतती गई
मानो
कहीं किसी गाँव के
किसी छप्परनुमा झोपड़ी
के चार शहीद के
गुमनाम अक्सों के
खून से सनी
अबतक धूल-धूसरित हो चुके
सरकारी कागजों,
कानूनी दस्तावेजों
और कानूनी लबादों पर
दुबारा प्रशासनिक
स्याहियाँ पुतती जा रही हों।
रात गहराती जाती है
और उसी तरह गुम होता जाता है आकाश
घुप्प अँधेरे मैं।
वैसे ही यह खून
सूख कर चिपक चुका है
अबतक
कार्यालयी ज़ेहन में।
मिटता जा रहा है अस्तित्व
परत-दर-परत पुतती हुई
स्याहियों के इन्द्रधनुष में ।
क्या कहूँ इसे?
नव छंद?या
नया सवेरा?
या बासी पड़ी
एक सूखी सी रोटी
के लिए होती
ज़द्दोज़हद
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Festered wound
withers with weather-ed change.
Just as the radios distributed
have withered away in rust,
in want of signals-
that hang limply
in desperate search.
doctored channels,
filtered news.
News freeze in memory
too curfewed to kiss
the caskets called
brain sockets-
just as
my neighbour's blood lies buried
under layers of this snowy 'paradise'
in an awaited wish to
unstiffen and thaw.
To release
bloody tears of 'special status' happiness.
Can you see the bunkers
behind the green paints?
Or do you think it's the lush
green valley
But before he could see
he was shot..
"A terrorist killed in ambush"-
the news reports.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Few ruminations on literature today
As the title conjures up an anticipation of an elegiac mood, Delbanco fulfills the same by painting a grim picture of how literary studies, production of literary texts and academics and scholarly pursuits in English literature have increasingly declined.
What constitutes English literature? Should it strictly restrict its ambit to the nationalised identities of Shakespearean, Keatsian, Miltonic productions or should it embrace Irish Yeats and Scottish Robert Burns? Expanding globally, should we read Amitav Ghosh or Nadine Gordimer just because they write in English? To problematise the subject a little more, should we credit the study of translations - Russian novelists, Oriya poetry? Notwithstanding the argument of English being a global language which makes it accomnodative to expand its horizons beyond its restrictive national concern, i remain ill informed and unconvinced about reading Arundhati Roy's and Salman Rushdie's novels as a part of my course. I thoroughly enjoy their ingenuity in exploiting the language but can not believe that they carve a space in the 'English' canon. If not, then will i really emerge as an M.A. in 'English' Literature after reading Kabir, Premchand, Ilyankal, Ghalib?
To me Delbanco seems to point out, as one among the many concerns, a very rampantly emergent phenomenon in English studies that has plummeted to the emergence of "fragmented, jargonised subjects"(Edward said's expression). In the name of appreciation of literary writing in innovative fashion, most of the intellectual capital is invested in extremely portioned and myopic reading of the same with the tinted glasses of a particular ideology. Or, in the name of 'independent', creative , 'imaginative' reading, the limits of criticism are stretched to ridiculous and vulgar dimensions. Also, Delbanco takes a dig at the recent shift in attention at directing the analytical skills of literary appreciation through the sieve of popular media like photography, films, art, architecture etc. However, what is ironical is that while the modern tendency is to cling to popular routes of presentation, the popular tends to turn its gaze and capture the classical antiquities.
While Delbanco expatiates on the trend, he fails to substantially expand on the reasons behind this phenomena. In the cut-throat materialist and fastly transforming global situation to the dictates of capitalism, an expectation to see academicians bereft of any market influence would be fundamentally erroneous. The recent figures that suggest fastly declining trends in university enrolments in Humanities and Literature studies and contrarily extremely high spurts in professional courses with affinity to generate money, testify the overarching influence of cash and cash-driven motives.Notwithstanding this deplorable occurrence, i see a note of optimism here. Despite the fact that very few research papers and theses would be generated out of the English departments across the country in sync with this trend, the scholars entering the field would be, by and large, genuine and committed in their pursuit.
Though Delbanco's article makes some interesting assertions, it fails to provide a concrete solution to the problems in the field. In his defence, what i could add is,that the nature of the problem is such that bureaucratic precision in a hunt for solutions is futile.
We know that education needs a gradual but overhaul reformation. Any further laxity in this direction would lead to worse forms of degradation in academic standards.