Life's a Poem: 6,5,4,3,2,1

I chanced upon an interesting challenge on Twitter today, A Poem a Day. One word or phrase, open to your interpretation. (Guidelines for the interested.)

A poem to write. Interesting. More so, owing to that open nature.

I will post what I write, once every six days. Please let me know what you think, should you choose to. Here goes, for the past six: 6,5,4,3,2,1 (April 2013):

April 1

A new arrival

A story

Lo and behold, tis out of its fold

The untold story, the details flowery

Has everyone enthralled, no children bawled

All are listening, hearing and feeling

Their eyes are moist, and their lips in smiles fold

At times they detest the humour so cold

They cry out in Joy for the Hero’s winning blow

Their hearts flutter and dip, at the story’s tenor

They welcome this chance and in Fear they clamour

In Happiness they hold hands, ride imaginary horses with valour

With sketches etched bright in their hearts and their mind,

They revel in this moment, t’was a story telling of a kind

April 2

Two-for-Tuesday: write a bright poem; write a dark poem

(i choose bright)

A song of Faith

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow…for ages together known to Man

This is what works, and still does; this is what keeps one strong

The hallmark of a character prudent, the sign of a Life brave

Oh Faith, oft beaten, and marauded, yet holding fort as a stave

Your Journey it defines, the road you tread,

And the impressions you carve

April 3

A tentative poem (tentative: cautious, hesitant, unsure)

speak up

There, they danced upon the tip of the child’s tongue

In his eyes, his manner and his countenance;

He hopped and hoped, and ran to his Father

Unsure, reserved, should he say it, or rather,

Go unnoticed before his other siblings,

And continue to bear the brunt of their wrong doings;

In circles he ran, unsure of his stance

The Father looked at his son, askance

In circles he ran, flailing his tiny arms

That mouth he opened but for a tad bit,

His Father said, “Ho son, what the matter is?”

He uttered a wild tune and flashed his smile,

His Father knew his son chose to beguile

And they still dance upon the tip of his tongue,

Those words unsaid, that deed undone

April 4

Hold that Hope

With every nay it wilts a cinch

With every aye, it leaps sky high

It oscillates from high to low, with every smile, frown or tilt of brow;

Potent, weak, and mad it is,

Flickers one moment, then nearly ceases to exist;

Hold it high, and hold it strong

It will keep you going for long

It will throw in temporary bouts of doubt

That is when you will hear yourself shout

Fret not, and don’t let it go

Don’t throw it, out of that window yet

For a little good may come of it- a little bit like placing your bet

April 5

Plus

The Sun, and Shine

The Rain, and Wine

People, Effort, Experiences, with Life, entwine;

Critics, Followers, Friends, and Foes

Leave impressions, Time still flows;

Pick what you want, leave what you don’t

Memories may haunt you, or leave you, know you don’t,

Your choices, words, actions, won’t;

But you have The Sun, and you have your Shine

There also is Rain and Wine;

With them around, and some more to it, Life’s a Journey,

Why whine?

April 6

Post

Oft he looked out, far and wide

Through his lens, through the enemy’s snide side

He ne’er gave way, his courage did not sway

Till the last man standing, did not cross the fated gateway

It is all about Stories

Stories. That is what it all boils down to.

You may or may not share yours...you may or may not listen to that of others. You may write yours, sing it; compose or hide yours. Yet, Life is all about stories.

Oft, you will have heard people around you say, "so, what is your story". Well, there always is a story; and there is a script. And you may choose/desire to pick it up, listen to it...believe, or neglect it. 

No, there is a thin line of difference between looking for a story and prying into someone's Life. It is an art...and it is subtle.

I try to look for stories...and I see they find ways to reveal themselves unto me...or to the seeker. This thirst for stories (to listen and tell...to understand) takes me to several places...and to varied art forms. Dramatics/Theatre being one such.

So I went to a play today...and it was quite an experience. 

Why?

Because of the story it told-the way the players enacted each character etched so well by the author/playwright/director. Also, due to the sheer emotion that floated through the auditorium. 

Every word delivered, was packed with punch...every move, an artful one. Every scene practised to perfection. There's something about drama.

What also caught my eye was the way the audience *trrring*  receives *crack-of-a-chip* such forms *SMS* of art- a dance drama, *yes we will eat at home-puts down the phone* a play-skit-narrative-a ballad- --- the ones that require patience... you get the drift?

Does it vary with a city? Possible, I'd say. It has more to do with sensitivities, I believe. Nay, it does not mean art is only for a "select" audience. To me, it is about you respecting what you choose. How willing are you to pay attention...to listen...to connect with something or someone (players, here).

Should you choose to, you will receive a lot many stories. You will see a part of you reflected in some of them...while in several others, you will find answers (or near) to your questions....or you may begin to appreciate the other, a tad more. Such is the power of a story, well told, well received. 

A word on resonance: What ever remains of the book definition, the frequencies have to match and the result is resonance. Similarly, the artist who performs, does so on a plane. His/her audience attempts (often) to get to the same plane. In fact, vice versa! An artist who is wanting in connection with his/her audience, experiences half the joy of performing. When both are on the same plane, they connect...and how!

One preempts the words, and thoughts of the other. This happens in conversations too...or lectures (school/college/workshops) where you are so " in -synch" with the coach, that you preempt the flow of the topic and your coach , your questions/thoughts.

Back to stories and people (it is them who it is all about)...to connect and truly so, is a Joy in itself. Difficult to put into words. Perchance, best described in my favourite lines (oft quoted in this Blog) " where there is no love, where listeners are dumb, there never can be a song" ~a broken song,  r.n. tagore

Thoughts~#3: Conversations Happen

Often when I see people around me connect with each other over a conversation, I wonder, how much there is to a conversation. I have had some interesting ones with complete strangers, people from several walks of life; on a variety of topics.

At times, I thank the Almighty for this. Such conversations teach one a lot. After most such, I have stopped to pen my thoughts down.  At times I forget to do so, but the “image” etches itself in my mind, and heart…so somehow, I have always been able to retain moments from every such.

And I think, it is not easy to talk, and then to be able to speak, and to eventually connect with someone. Conversations don’t come easy…and oftentimes, you have to make them happen.

An interesting article in the newspaper today made me think on this.

How far people go to connect with others around them? See this: 100 conversations over a 100 cups of tea. 

Some of us are configured in such a way that a conversation is something we may not relish. Acceptable. Consider these though. Everyone. 

Letters are a thing of the past now. The written word on the brink of extinction. I shudder to think on this line. While letters were more about connecting, electronic mails are all about curtness. How well can you snub the other; perhaps how well did you show the other person his/her place. Irksome, to my mind. Opinions differ, perspectives change. I’d be glad to hear back from those of you who have had great experience or fond memories from these. Often one experiences how the written word alienates you; the spoken word can too, but the degree varies.

Language is not a barrier. You know it. I found it while undergoing my Initial Learning Program at my organization. The woman in-charge of washing dishes all trainees ate out of was a native of Kerala, in India. She would stand each day, behind a counter-the service window, just her hands visible to everyone who passed by to hand the finished plate over for washing. Not quite liking the work she did, I would bend down, and look her in the eye, smile and say thank you, every time I went to the service window to keep my used plate. She would smile back and shake her head, side-to-side. This went on for 25 days. We used sign language to connect. No words, beyond thank you…any other, in our own languages; and a lot of smiles. She treated me to a piece of cake from her meagre salary even as I vehemently refused. To cut the long story short, all of that was a conversation. Language and education, notwithstanding.

Chat’s not helping us either. No formal closures on chat (Google, Yahoo!, other such); unlike a conversation. Don’t you see that happen as the new normal now? Perhaps you do it too. I consciously try not to fall prey to it.

Have you ever stopped to think, that a ‘chat’ is a conversation. Imagine. You are speaking with someone, and suddenly, the person just gets up from the chair, and walks away.

The electronic word and world have taken a toll of sorts on possible conversation and on that which happens.

These above have had some bearing to different levels, on our capacities and abilities to converse with other beings, and people. A conversation is imperative to man’s survival. With the art (and beyond) of conversation soon vanishing, we may live to see a day when we want to connect, but can’t find the means. Where a conversation becomes an art/thing extinct. Where people don’t “see” its importance, and therefore cease to connect for a conversation over something big or small.

Reminds me of a few lines from RN Tagore’s poem, A Broken Song~ where there is no love, where the listeners are dumb, there never can be a song.

 

Thoughts #2: Life’s A Journey

The sea of human beings stared and wobbled, as the train chugged into the station. The clock in the station master’s room struck.  1900 hours. The cool evening breeze blew, forcing everyone to wrap their arms and clothes around themselves.

And then, the sea began to pour forth, bursting at the seams. All hell broke loose, with every passing moment. People scrambling to get aboard the train…young mothers scurrying with young ones in tow; families clinging together for fear of losing sight of their loved ones…still jostling ahead, for a foothold’s worth of space-on the platform and the train.

Once on board, a different world on wheels awaited every passenger. No space to stand; leave alone walk to reach your seat. The train was filled cheek by jowl with people wrestling to make way…and get some place to lodge themselves. Scary, for the sheer numbers that were in; unreserved, and they were in; reserved, and they tried to get in; some trying their luck to get in; some cursing theirs for having to let “it” go. The Railway Police Force did not show up…nor did the station authorities. What could they have done? The power of multitudes, is a fear (for the one who fails in his duty) to reckon with!

It was a cold evening in early February this year.

After a lot of shuffling, wrestling, and word mongering did everyone get on to the train. Now, how does one get to the designated seat? How does one move. Well, push came to shove. Lo and behold, everyone managed to fit in.

As the train chugged out of the station, chaos and anxiety was writ large on every passenger’s face. More than half the people onboard travelled without a ticket, unreserved, and with sheer grit, bordering solely on Faith.  They had to get off at Allahabad…to take a dip in the holy waters of the Ganges; on the most auspicious day of the year~ Mauni Amavasya. Time it takes to reach there by train from Varanasi? About two and a half hours. Time that train took? Five and a half.  All trains ran thus…all passengers inconvenienced: those who missed theirs, ones who got on with Hope of reaching for the holy dip on time, and those who got on to any which way.

While I can’t represent the voice of people aboard that train, I can speak for myself…and spell my thoughts on this out. Here are a few:

My first thought was of utter disdain and anger. How can we let people, who have no business being there, in?!? What a poor facility management. What ruckus. Damn you!

As the train covered a kilometer or two, quarrels and verbal duels rent the air. I tried to steer clear… anger mounting. Huddled into one corner of discomfort, I sat through those five and a half hours; tried telling people to not squat on the floor… or to mind their elbows and luggage loosely tied together in bundles.

After a few kilometers more, I thought, what made these people board a train that they knew would be full of people, who would dislike their presence? Be full of disdain towards them? Furthermore, what made them sit patiently, in one corner, just smiling back to everyone and anyone who was rude to them? My heart went out to them.  Not once did they talk back; never did they argue. Yes, they knew they had no business being there, but there they were, riding high on the waves of their Faith; and on Hope, that they will make it.

My conversations with a few revealed they had been journeying for close to two-three days now. They had been afoot for more than 48 hours! Slowly, some passengers stopped spewing venom at them. Perchance they realised what drove this lot.

At 0130 hours when the train arrived at Allahabad, all of them got off the train…as if keen to move to their ‘aim’.  The rest of my journey was beset with discomfort…but that did not matter to me. I thought, and some more, of these people I just rubbed shoulders with.

Their Faith and Hope were two factors that aided them. They were the reasons why the people did not shout back, or give in to their fellow passengers’ coaxing. Not, the fact, that they had no business being there. They were just there for a different purpose. Nothing else mattered.

The next day word spread fast that there was a stampede at the railway station. True to their lot, the newspapers threw up pictures that elicited sympathy, fear and pain from the readers. My thoughts went to my co-passengers from the previous day.

A few questions, remain with me: when authorities know it for a fact that this is to happen, why not plan for it in advance? Perhaps the answer lies in the sheer multitudes of our country; perhaps, in the inability and lack of foresight of those in power.

P.S: Am glad this post sees the light of the day. It stayed half-written, for a few days…and how I writhed in disgust towards self. Everything has a time; A Time when it happens…a book half read, a draft half written…a word untold…comes through, eventually.

Thoughts ~ #1 : The Monkey Video

 It’s Sunday, February 24, 2013, and I have a few things on my mind.

How do I get back to that one page I wrote on my journey of sorts, by train early this month; how do I upload this video on Facebook (taking donkeys years now!) and ‘I-can-sense-an-itch-to-write/been –long’ kind of thoughts. Rummaging through my mind…preventing me from taking an afternoon nap. (yes!)

Head’s throbbing for I intentionally forsook my medicine for the day…these above, need some sorting first.  Everything else, can wait.

Sorting my thoughts, not in the above order, though.

 #1: The video

Early today morning, I heard the familiar ‘damru-dugdugi’: a small two-headed drum, one sees Shiva, the Destroyer hold in His Hands (my favourite of the lot!).

Yes, ‘twas the man with two monkeys…atop his cycle. Vying for attention of children…in all the houses lining the road, he keeps walking.

Then the inevitable happens.

They begin to run out of houses. Screaming. Yelling in excitement.  Their parents exchanging glances that say ‘fetch-those-pennies-out and stand-here-with him/her-while-the-show-lasts!’.

Children. They are such bundles of energy.

Three from my neighbourhood called the ‘show’ open. They stood in extreme anticipation, while the ‘madari’-monkey tamer, put his paraphernalia on show.

The two monkeys, waited for him, patiently. The children’s excitement mounted…and the money dance began.

I have watched this as a kid…many a times. Sitting atop my Father’s shoulders…best and safe, as my little heart always felt sure the monkey would not reach me there. And all that while, he would answer my endless questions.

Today, I see it from my balcony, with a camera in my hand.

And I see a different script. A testimony to the changing times.

The parents go back to their houses once the show starts. The maids, helpers, take their places. The script that the monkeys dance to, has undergone a sea change- they have begun to show traces of domestic (though light-hearted and with pun) violence.  It is fun, as it used to be…the regular dance, ‘tamasha’, and songs. Claps follow. Children chatter. The show ends.

I ape the media in a way…or the average passer-by to any such drama. I have a camera, and I shoot. From a distance, I choose to watch what happens…as it happens…and I storify it now.

Perhaps, we as human beings are taught to ‘watch’ in silence. Perchance, that parent who has asked a helper to switch his/her place, needs to be there, to explain. To assail fears that the children experience…to answer questions, that barrage their minds.

The children are watching…and they are learning. Picking it all up. Their psyches are working big time, engraving these implicit messages.

And then there are monkeys...

P.S.: The video has taken all its while to upload. I will share the URL once it is up. Until then, tell me what you think

As Grandma puts it…From My Grandma’s closet

A True Tale of Tic, Tac and Toe

It was a cold wintry day when the three ran from door –to – door, looking for what they liked best. They would leap at each other the moment one tried to snatch the other’s share. Not only had they marked territories for ‘butter-hunting’, but also for ‘storage-of-the-sweep’ of each day. They would dig and dig, deep within the womb of the Earth, until they would be left panting and gasping for breath. They dug for their ‘storage’, where each would safely keep their loot until the next time they felt hungry.

Though they were sisters, they looked as dissimilar as possible- Tic, Tac, and Toe, the meanest cats around the “Buttermore” neighbourhood.
Today, however, was a different day for the three. It was winters for almost a month now, and the each had stocked up quite a ‘paw-ful’ of butter-soft, white butter, that smelled like heaven. What made today an important day of their lives was the fact, that Tic had been conning her other two sisters. She stole their share while they slept by the chilly nights, for almost two days now.

Tac and Toe did not quite realize what their little darling had been up to! Each evening, when they had their fill from their share, and buried the remaining under the Earth, they headed for the nearest barn to spend the night at. Tic, who always kept an open eye, on how much butter her elder sisters kept away, could not help but dream of laying her paws on it all.
Around midnight, when Tac and Toe would be fast asleep, snoring away to glory, Tic would tip-toe out of the barn, and head straight to the moor where the pits-of-butter were.
The day before when she tried for the first time, she was scared. “What if Tac and Toe arise from sleep?”, she thought to herself as chills ran down her spine. She dispelled all such thoughts from her head with the signature wave of her paw and let out a half-mocking mew as she crossed the stream that separated the barn and the moor.
She ran past the row of houses, the blacksmiths’ and the dairy, pausing for two seconds at each, to ferret out any fish bones, milk packets, or fruit peels from the bins left uncovered by the lazy owners.

She reached the moor soon enough, and began to look for the ‘spots’. Having found the two mounds, she dug and ate a bit from both the pits. She covered them as before and wiped all traces of butter off her whiskers. She trotted back to the barn and slid below the hay cover she used as a sheet during winters.
The next night was easier. She left the barn a little after midnight, and ate her fill. She redistributed the butter from the two pits so that Tac and Toe would think they still have their original stocks in place. She was becoming a master at this.
How smartly she chided Tac and Toe the next afternoon, for doubting that their butter stocks dwindled. ‘Moles, dear sisters!’, she chimed, ‘do not forget, moles are in plenty here!’
The other two were left thinking on how old they were getting for having forgotten how much did they ‘put’ the earlier day. They even started doubting each other for stealing off the other’s share of hard-earned butter.
All to Tic’s content and pride in her stealthy ways.
Today was the afternoon of the third day. By now the additional dollops of butter that she tucked in resulted in a slight bulge in Tic’s tummy. She even walked a lazy walk owing to the bit of weight she had put on. While her sisters hunted for their share today, Tic chose to bask in the sunlight. Sunlight was a rare event in the winters and besides that, her tummy was more than full!

Seeing Tic so laid back, Tac and Toe started thinking upon what led her to that. She was one naughty sibling of a cat who would always prance and run about to snatch half a paw from her elder sisters’ share or loot.
‘I have my doubts on the little one’, said Tac to Toe, waxing her whiskers.
‘To be honest, Tac, I too am thinking! I have been observing Tic is too happy-go-lucky during our loot today!’, said Toe to Tac.
Meanwhile, Tic lay blissfully unaware of all of this. She tossed and turned from side to side as she felt too lazy to move. She struck at the wasps and fleas that sat on her fur.
When Tac and Toe came to their mounds to dig the pit up, they saw a whisker in their respective piles of butter. So they immediately understood that this was not the doing of moles!
However, they did not utter a word. It was evening by now, and all three ambled back to the barn after they had their dinner’s share of the butter.
Sitting by the fire that night, Tac and Toe hatched a plan. They would take turns to stay awake and see what happens in the dark of the night. Tic, on the other hand, remains blissfully unaware of her scheming sisters.
They all sleep by ten. Around midnight, Tic stirs in the hay-stack bed. Tac and Toe pretend to be fast asleep, although they were wide awake. Tic gets up from bed, turns around to see whether her sisters are asleep, turns around one last time, and tip-toes to the gate of the barn.

She runs at light-speed! She crosses the blacksmith’s, the dairy, the houses in a row, and reaches the moor. She turns back yet again, for she could here some one following her at a distance. She hushed all fear and doubt within her with the same signature wave of her paw. She ran for the mounds, and dug both up one by one. She ate her fill. She covered the mounds, and as she was in a hurry, she forgot to redistribute the mounds this time around.
All this while, Tac and Toe had been following every movement of Tic. However, they ran before she could spot them prying on her. When Tic returned to the barn, she found her sisters fast asleep, just the way they were when she had left for the adventure.Next morning, when all three woke up, Tac exclaimed she is too hungry and that they should rush to the moor to eat some butter. It was while the three ran to the moor that Tic realized she had forgotten to redistribute the butter in the two mounds. She felt paralyzed for good reason. Her sisters would never ever spare her if they discovered what had she been up to!

She somehow managed to keep her calm.
They reached the barn, and Tac and Toe dug their piles up. As they had expected, they found that the mounds were half-eaten!! They mewed with anger, and purred incessantly! They rubbed their claws against the Earth!
Tic almost lost her breath. She looked up to the sky to look for some excuse. She did not know what would happen next.
She had an urge to run away from the moor, yet she knew she could not go far. Her sisters would get hold of her before she would manage to cover half the distance of the moor.
Tac spoke up, ‘ Tic, we know what you have been up to lately! And you are done for!!’, she said. Toe purred, ‘ We are not going to spare you! Had you asked us for some, we would have gladly shared it with you! You chose to steal, and now you shall have to pay!’
Tic froze in her tracks! Tears welled in her beautiful emerald button-like shimmering eyes. She mewed and mewed until she broke into uncontrollable sobs. ‘I am sorry, said she, ‘ I got greedy and wanted to do some mischief. My idea was not theft. It was adventure!’ She continued to mew softly, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

The sight of their little sister weeping mellowed Tac and Toe to some extent. It was just another few minutes before they chose to forgive Tic for her mischief and made amends.
The three sisters happily ate their breakfast, and basked in the Sun for a while before returning to the barn. Least did they know that the Vixie, the wicked vixen eavesdropped on all of this today afternoon!
She thought to herself as she reigned in her greed upon seeing three fat cats, ‘Woah! What a royal meal this would be for me and my family! Three fat cats!!’
That night, while the three sisters slept at the barn, unaware of their fate the next morning, Vixie the vixen planned her move.
At day break, Tic, Tac, and Toe brushed their furs and left for the moor, singing happily. Stopping by the stream, they could not help but admire their fine furs and sharp features as they gazed at their reflection in the sparkling stream. After they had had some nuts from the tree nearby, they ran to reach the moor.
They dug up their respective mounds and ate some butter off them. Tac and Toe each gave some share of theirs to Tic as a gesture of love. They all sang their favourite songs from the old times, when all at once, Vixie charged!
‘Hahaha! I have you for my dinner ladies!!’ she said, and the three poor cats froze to death.
Vixie inched forward, while they moved a step behind, for every step that Vixie took towards them.They were so very afraid that they could not run. Tic began to cry. Toe and Tac looked at each other and resolved that they shall not be dinner to Vixie tonight!
With lightening speed, Tac and Toe sprang upon Vixie. She hit them with her claws while they fought with her. Tic saw this and stopped crying. She ran and started pushing Vixie towards the pits. Vixie resisted. However, being attacked from three sides confounded her.
She struggled, wrestled and wriggled to free herself from their grip, though all in vain!
As they kept fighting, they did not realize that they had come very close to the pits. One step to the right and all would fall in! Tic alerted her sisters with her characteristic mew! They reversed their stance and with a sudden push, shoved Vixie into the deepest pit of them all!

Deep down, when Vixie fell into the pit, the three could hear her faint screams. They took one last look at the pit, before they covered it with mud and straws. That would surely see the end of Vixie, and also to all the troubles of the little animals she preyed upon!
Proclaiming their victory over evil with loud purrs and mews, Tic, Tac, and Toe returned to the barn, happy to be together and safe under their roof.
‘All is well that ends well!’, said Tac. Toe mewed in agreement while little Tic put her arms around her sisters and tucked herself in between the hay-sheets.

‘Good night’, she purred. Tac and Toe responded with a smile and a wag of their tails.

Oft' I Ponder

Neither trite, nor strife.
Neither trifle, nor vengeance.
Not of anger or despair,
Not unfair and not disdain.
Not of trouble, or of pain.
Such it is not.
But of penance and of hope,
Of truth, apology and love.
And of gentleness it is.