Author: binny22

An active blogger, a debutant Novelist , a passionate poet who loves to travel is what could sum me up. I love the internet and all that is connected to computers. I love to explore new areas of knowledge though I may not accept every piece of information.

Jasmine’s Aladdin

“I won’t be silenced
You can’t keep me quiet
Won’t tremble when you try it
All I know is I won’t go speechless”

Who doesn’t know the story of Aladdin? I have read Aladdin at least thrice; played the game innumerable times; watched the Disney movie at least once and before I talk about the latest, I had the privilege to watch a performance in the theatre a couple of years back. This was an entirely different and wonderful excitement. Imagine watching the actors performing live before you and singing the song on stage whilst doing all the action that is an intrinsic part of the story! When I look back at it, I am filled with wonder at the stage settings and the special effects that were created to transport us into another world.

Today I am talking of another magical experience. I watched the latest Aladdin movie based on the Disney story. Obviously a musical, it makes out imagination go on a roller coaster ride along with the lead characters. Such a simple story line yet what a lot it has to say!

We have the clear good and the bad characters( Of course Aladdin steals and tells lies but these are accepted grey areas of goodness); we also have the incidents growing progressively towards the climax of a huge battle; the natural movement of the evil overpowering goodness and then getting reckless with the power and strength of invincibility is very well crafted. Even though you know who will win, the moment you enter the world of Agrabah you are again the puny human tossed in the waves of uncertainty. So there we are sitting at the edge of the seats praying that Aladdin wins. Then of course innocence wins, and we go home happy and satisfied.

How then does the narrative offer us something new? The most famous song ‘A whole new world’ of course is a timeless classic :

“..I’ve come so far
I can’t go back to where I used to be”

How well it mirrors each of our lives! How many times have we tried to go back to that space where we were the happiest but are never able to recapture the magic? The romance embedded in the lines:

“…a thrilling chase
a wondrous place
for you and me”

Makes even the heart of an ancient person palpitate with the thrill of first love. I believe that the success of Aladdin over the years is because it touches the intrinsic core within an individual and mirrors some facet or the other that is lying dormant within us.

Though not authenticated it is supposed to be a part of the thousand and one tales of Arabic origin but it is largely attributed to Antoine Galland the French translator in the eighteenth century.

What strikes one is the fact that Princess Jasmine lived in a world where women had no rights, yet over the years in different settings we are introduced to her as an independent woman with a stubbornness of getting her own way. She refuses to be only seen (as an object of beauty) and demands that she be heard. So we have a millennial Jasmine, independent, stubborn, ambitious and combat ready. She refuses to be “speechless” and demands justice even in face of the oppressive power of Jaffar.

Jasmine does not cry and berate her fate as she is captured, instead she chooses to be a lawyer and turns into an advocate for the people of Agrabah. Pleading with Hakim( head of the royal guards) to judge the correctness of the law that makes him bow before Jaffar.

The ending is also very daring and new as she takes up the mantle of being a Sultan and ‘arrests’ Aladdin for being a thief, to presumably take over his life completely.

The magic continues… the wonderful genie; the magic carpet; Abu and the cave of wonders all lend their enchantment towards the world of Aladdin. The negative energy of Jaffar and Iago create the obstacles without which this tale would not be turbulent and filled with excitement as it moves from point to point. It makes us jump over the rooftops of Agrabah with the foot tapping beats of Aladdin’s lunges, jumps, swings and somersaults!

So a new take on an old tale; an empowered woman; a millennial man; a kind genie and the proverbial ogre Jaffar; all the trappings  of a modern fairy tale. There is plenty to learn; each of the songs open our eyes to truths with a humorous twist and makes us want to go back into this celluloid dream.

 



Jasmine’s Aladdin









“I won’t be silenced
You can’t keep me quiet
Won’t tremble when you try it
All I know is I won’t go speechless”
Who doesn’t know the story of Aladdin? I have read Aladdin at least thrice; played the game innumerable times; watched the Disney movie at least once and before I talk about the latest, I had the privilege to watch a performance in the theatre a couple of years back. This was an entirely different and wonderful excitement. Imagine watching the actors performing live before you and singing the song on stage whilst doing all the action that is an intrinsic part of the story! When I look back at it, I am filled with wonder at the stage settings and the special effects that were created to transport us into another world.

Today I am talking of another magical experience. I watched the latest Aladdin movie based on the Disney story. Obviously a musical, it makes out imagination go on a roller coaster ride along with the lead characters. Such a simple story line yet what a lot it has to say!


We have the clear good and the bad characters( Of course Aladdin steals and tells lies but these are accepted grey areas of goodness); we also have the incidents growing progressively towards the climax of a huge battle; the natural movement of the evil overpowering goodness and then getting reckless with the power and strength of invincibility is very well crafted. Even though you know who will win, the moment you enter the world of Agrabah you are again the puny human tossed in the waves of uncertainty. So there we are sitting at the edge of the seats praying that Aladdin wins. Then of course innocence wins, and we go home happy and satisfied.
How then does the narrative offer us something new? The most famous song ‘A whole new world’ of course is a timeless classic :

“..I’ve come so far
I can’t go back to where I used to be”
How well it mirrors each of our lives! How many times have we tried to go back to that space where we were the happiest but are never able to recapture the magic? The romance embedded in the lines:
“…a thrilling chase
a wondrous place
for you and me”
Makes even the heart of an ancient person palpitate with the thrill of first love. I believe that the success of Aladdin over the years is because it touches the intrinsic core within an individual and mirrors some facet or the other that is lying dormant within us.

Though not authenticated it is supposed to be a part of the thousand and one tales of Arabic origin but it is largely attributed to Antoine Galland the French translator in the eighteenth century.
What strikes one is the fact that Princess Jasmine lived in a world where women had no rights, yet over the years in different settings we are introduced to her as an independent woman with a stubbornness of getting her own way. She refuses to be only seen (as an object of beauty) and demands that she be heard. So we have a millennial Jasmine, independent, stubborn, ambitious and combat ready. She refuses to be “speechless” and demands justice even in face of the oppressive power of Jaffar.
Jasmine does not cry and berate her fate as she is captured, instead she chooses to be a lawyer and turns into an advocate for the people of Agrabah. Pleading with Hakim( head of the royal guards) to judge the correctness of the law that makes him bow before Jaffar.
The ending is also very daring and new as she takes up the mantle of being a Sultan and ‘arrests’ Aladdin for being a thief, to presumably take over his life completely.
The magic continues… the wonderful genie; the magic carpet; Abu and the cave of wonders all lend their enchantment towards the world of Aladdin. The negative energy of Jaffar and Iago create the obstacles without which this tale would not be turbulent and filled with excitement as it moves from point to point. It makes us jump over the rooftops of Agrabah with the foot tapping beats of Aladdin’s lunges, jumps, swings and somersaults!
So a new take on an old tale; an empowered woman; a millennial man; a kind genie and the proverbial ogre Jaffar; all the trappings  of a modern fairy tale. There is plenty to learn; each of the songs open our eyes to truths with a humorous twist and makes us want to go back into this celluloid dream.

 


  

Never got the GOT!






The other day I saw a post on Facebook which said that ‘if you have never watched a single episode of The Game of Thrones than click on the link below’.


“Should I click on it”, I wondered. I recently found out that GOT was first aired in 2010, so I looked back at my 2010; it had been an exciting year for me, but I do not remember hearing about this series. My children were then teenagers and they should have told me about it (I must remember to ask them whether they did let me know). The first that I became conscious of it was in 2013 when my then ‘terrible teenager’ would slouch on the sofa and stream it online on her laptop.


 I would sometime peep over her shoulder and see a lot of black, brown and blue graphics, so I never was interested! (I love the colourful ‘Rangeela” kind of pictures!). Once in a while I heard the sisters discussing it over the phone. I am not a suspicious mother, but what struck me every time they spoke was whether somebody would die. This further distanced me from even attempting to see one episode!


I have plenty of people on Facebook who love to discuss the GOT and obviously I skip over these posts. As I have a husband who is the least interested in TV serials, I did not get any knowledge from him either. The doctor in the family is very kind to me; she specifically informs me about new TV serials, the trending things on youtube videos, the latest Netflix and Prime video offerings. So I don’t feel too left out by the millennial generation. But she never discussed this with me either. I was sometimes tempted to start seeing it but all the comments regarding the episodes pulled me back .


As the younger one (TT) left her teens she continued to watch this and discuss this with her sister but neither of them attempted to persuade me to do so. In fact I remember clearly that one or both of them made me watch “Stranger Things”. This was also an uncomfortable serial with a lot of blue, black and brown colours, filled with eerie and strange things but I watched both seasons. I was under extreme discomfort, but I was fascinated by it and in my own way, loved it (I remember binge watching it too!).


Fantasy is fascinating for me; I love magic and ‘other dimensional’ narratives, hence an obsession with the Harry Potter series. Why then did I not get the GOT? Frankly I have no answer. Maybe it was the whispers about sex and violence and the mandatory death after each episode which put me off. Could be that I love to relax when I watch a movies and silent murmurs told me otherwise. Possibility of age catching up was also there (though I believe that a majority of the fans are as old if not older than me).

I believe the last season is just over and that is what made me curious about it. I, of course went to my favourite library “Google” and did a little reading. I was surprised to find that it had won a number of awards. Maybe another reason why I did not sidle into watching it! I very adroitly avoid watching Award winning movies ( I can see the eyebrows reaching the ceilings by now!). I also believe that it has a humongous cast which again could confuse my little brain!

Many of my friends do doubt my sensibilities when it comes to movies! Once I had praised a movie sky-high; the hounding response I got for my admiration, put me off ever trying to write a movie review!

So here I am feeling a little lost and talking about The GOT without having watched even half an episode! I do not understand the hoo-hah over it and do not even want to. Does that make me passé?

You tell me! I have stopped watching Hindi TV serials for the last ten years, so I am a misfit when I go to parties, specially the Ladies ones; now I will certainly be an oddity in any kind of gathering as I do not have an iota of information to contribute to  a discussion on the GOT!

Where have all the colours gone?






Having been a Jeans and t-shirt person all through my young life, I had gone berserk in the year after I got married. I wore all the feminine Indian clothes- brightly coloured with matching jewellery and bangles to boot! And Boy! Had I enjoyed myself! Green, purple, orange all the possible loud colours had suddenly become my favourite. Of course over the years I have mellowed and refrain from wearing too bright a colour. But give me a chance (A wedding or a festival) I am back, wallowing in the multiple hues of life.

“Hey! Isn’t that a lovely shade of black”, said the twenty something to her pal beside her.
“That’s good”, agreed the pal, “but you should have seen the black Sheena was wearing yesterday! it was to die for”.

These days I am like R.K.Laxman’s “Common man”, I am here , there and everywhere with a bag over my shoulder; a very silent spectator of the drama of life. If I could draw, I would be another famous cartoonist.


Listening to the above conversation, I wondered what were the shades of black? Of course I had heard of this book called the “Fifty shades of grey” but shades of black was what I had not heard of. When in doubt Google is my mantra. Sure enough Wikipedia had seventeen different shades of black listed!

For a change I tried to be “in the moment” and started looking around and noticing all the young people who  were crowded in and outside the fast food restaurant, smoking, having tea or coffee or some junk food or the other. The young men (I was pleasantly surprised) were quite nattily dressed and most of them looked healthy and well built (the gym effect?) The girls were a different story, fifty percent of them were overweight, the other fifty percent were a mixture of toned bodies, normal bodies, anorexic bodies and normal skinny ones.


Whether it was “the black conversation” I overheard or the general gloominess in the political scenario, I saw that the bottom half of  all the girls were black. Most of them wore black leggings, some wore the very popular jeggings, many had on the formal trousers (There are many offices in the vicinity) and a miniscule few had churidars on.  So if you were to be polite and not stare, you would focus on the bottom half, right? Well there was a virtual sea of black, weaving in and out on the grey asphalt! I must have seen this before, but I had never been conscious of this fact.

Can you picture what I saw? Black sea with smoke rising from within it! The smoke could be the cigarettes or from the steaming cups of tea and coffee. Whatever it was, my world looked a little drab and forlorn. As I swept my eyes surreptitiously from ground zero to an altitude of five feet plus, I noticed the tops were either different shades of white( Check it out on google) or blue or pink. Where I wondered had the greens, purples, oranges or even the  bright yellow gone?
I did not look at the men, they anyway never had a great colour palette, it was the girls I was inspecting. Where had all the feminine love for bright hues gone? Why were they all following a uniform code of conduct for dressing? Agreed black makes you look slimmer, so I understood the penchant for bottom halves being black but what about the top half? Don’t we women always want to stand out? Be different from the others? Why if a film actress wears a dress which is even two percent similar to another actress’s dress the tabloids go crazy putting up the two pictures and pointing out the similarities! Fortunately I have cut off our cable Television otherwise all the news channels would be airing the same picture again and again!
Now that I had become conscious of the new fad, my eyes went on searching for a different picture in various backgrounds. The next time I went to the Mall I looked discerningly at the crowd. In the food court it was all dark under the table! I also noticed that three new brands of leggings had set up shop in different parts of the mall.

Out of curiosity I went into my favourite one “Go Colours” and asked them what colour had the highest sale. The answer was not much of a surprise- it was black of course! I then asked them about the different shades of black and they were very aware of it. (I felt such a dodo!)
“Why do you have such a wonderful display of rainbow colour leggings, jeggings and what not?”, I asked inquisitively.
The salesman had the patience of a saint, he said, “That is for display, it attracts customers”.
“But there are very few blacks?”, I objected.
“Madam we have a store room at the back filled with them. They do not look good on display, so we do not put them out”, the salesman said dismissively.
Having learnt a valuable lesson, I realised that even though the world is turning into a colourless graveyard, the human mind is still alive. Why do I say that? Well as long as the hoardings and displays depend on colours to attract customers then all is right with the world and God is in his heaven.
Maybe this is just a phase and my colours will creep back into the world like a time lapse picture of winter turning to spring!

Till it does will anyone answer my question- Where have all the colours gone?

Saga of drivers across the world!




We are spoilt lot! Specially the middle class in India; we are not rich, but we have the comfort of a paramilitary army of helpers! We have the maids, the nannies, the drivers, the milkman, the newspaper boy, the gardener…. The list goes on. I would not have appreciated them if I had not gone abroad for a couple of years and learnt how difficult it was to get house help, leave alone the expenses involved.

Years back when the children were very young, we were privileged to have a life with a company provided car and driver, from then on till now the drivers have played an important part in my learning-about-life process.

The first time we had a non-Indian driver was when we were in Egypt. They are astoundingly different from ours. Other than being excellent drivers- manoeuvring the huge cars in small spaces and going through choc-a-bloc traffic like a hot knife in butter, they were a part of the family. They looked after our children like they were their own. They bargained for us at the vegetable market as if they were saving their own money. They cared for us when we were ill and celebrated our joy with the same enthusiasm that we did. I always forgot that they were from a different religion and  had different rituals!

How were they different from our erstwhile drivers? Except for a couple of drivers (We went through at least ten in ten years), specially the Mumbai ones, the drivers we have had were always out to swindle us; it could be overtime, or telling that the traffic police had caught them, or demanding holidays (we Indians have thirteen festivals in twelve months!). the question of them caring for us or vice-versa was almost next to nil. There was always a wall of suspicion between us!


The next type was the European one. We had a driver to take us through Italy and its beautiful countryside. He was of course different from either the Indians or the Egyptians. Extremely elegant, he was like an exalted guide; educated, articulate and informative. He neither gave us any information about himself nor asked us for any. Never did he follow us when we went sightseeing or advise us where to eat or what to buy. In the car however, he was a part of our family; friendly and humorous. But he had his lines which neither he nor we crossed!

Recently we had the opportunity of experiencing another set of drivers in the heavenly kingdom of Bhutan. The driver who was with us throughout the day was also our unofficial guide. He advised us about meals, regaled us with stories of this land of Buddha and took care of us in every possible way. Welcomed us with a smile (however early it was) and bade goodnight with the same smile (however late it might have been). He drove us to the base of the Tiger’s nest and climbed all the way up (believe me it is a torturous climb!) and came down insisting on carrying our backpack and then drove us back to the hotel! He knew I was in pain and never missed a chance to enquire about my wellbeing! By the time we left we were friends. What I realised was, they were not too well off in terms of money, but they were always filled with happiness; they were satisfied with their lives and grateful for what destiny had given them.  

Even the Taxi drivers had a smile on their face when they ferry you unlike the Uber drivers in the USA who think they are much superior to you!

We took a small break in Guwahati before braving the noise and crowd of Mumbai, here fortunately we had a good driver but being Indian they have their own barricades.

Landing in Mumbai, it was a cultural shock to be harassed by the Uber drivers! They neither have a smile nor an apology when they are late. In fact they will state their delay in such a way that you feel guilty that you asked them for a ride!

Could be the stress and pressure they go through make them this way (I am trying to empathise!) However it would be wonderful if they could learn that being happy in spite of adversity is not a crime; that a smile does not cost them a penny; responding to a thank you with a “Welcome” rather than grunt would not hurt either.

Believe me they earn triple the amount that a Bhutanese or an Egyptian driver does! Can you blame us for not having a full time driver in Mumbai?

Conceptual Writing- Storytelling


Sometimes profound words come from the mouth of babies! Yesterday I was whiling away my time watching an award show for movies (trying to have a chilled out weekend). The young actress who won the award said a few words that made me think. I cannot reproduce her exact speech but the gist was “I am a good actress not only because I work hard at my art but because I have a team of directors, producers and writers who frame my character in the movie” she ended by saying, “I give the highest honour to the writer, as it is he who is the creator of everything. Everyone else does whatever they do  to give life to his creation, but it is his thought and imagination which is the seed of a brave new world”.

All forms of art indulge in the process of creation. Whether it is cinema, painting, sculptor or any media form, they all strive to put before us a reality that may or may not mimic the world as we know it. While most of them have their limitations: Cinema by its budget and practicality; painting by the physical use of canvas or paints; sculptor with the medium it uses, but writing, it lets your imagination take wings and soar into the wild unknown, beyond the plausibility of facts and data; sometimes even beyond the edge of the world.

I think God himself is a writer, he takes the trouble to chart out a plot for each of us and then lets us bumble our way through life. Sometimes he erases all that he had written and rewrites our progress!

Of course writing per se was preceded by the oral tradition of storytelling, so what I am actually trying to say is, more than writing, it is giving birth to a story with its myriad colours of thought and action is the point of relevance. Some writers painstakingly go through the correct procedure of creation. First the plot is imagined-the foundation is laid; then the main character is conceived-preferably a round character with its strengths and weaknesses, after which the narrative goes from introduction to weaving words and creating a new world and the final denouement which will unveil a new chronicle of events. There is also another set of writers who just sit down and decide to unleash their creativity in words, on the spur of the moment. They write a story and then go into the nitty gritty of polishing and sharpening their offerings. You could belong to either group but what is important here is that both group use their skill and art to form an immortal saga which will touch many, if not all hearts that have the perused it.

Why are stories so important to us? The modern world which is steeped in scientific theory has the audacity to lay down a data grid and expect us to understand every nuance of existence via this. Obviously, this fails time and again! This is when we go back to the art of storytelling to explain the shades that exist. Two plus two is four is the universal truth as long as the parameters are physical objects. What happens when there is a fluid expression of dissent to the universal truth? Can your data grid succeed in explaining the anomalies that is always a part of life? Here is when tales, fables and stories come into the fray. They are those fluid expressions which adapt and encompass all our existential woes in such a way that they are the universal truth without vindication and validation.

How easy it is to teach a child through a story rather than putting facts and figures on a platter before him. Every talk show, everything connected with education and every form of entertainment refers to some story or the other. In order to understand or empathise a situation, we need to identify and relive the circumstances. Stories play a stellar role in infusing healthy mental growth and development within and without the confines of society.

As an erstwhile teacher I have always resorted to the unlimited bag of stories to teach, motivate and create s group of individuals who are independent, unique and outstanding in their own rights.

Does this answer the question of why ‘stories’ and connected to  it ‘writing’ is important to this world? Does this give the responsibility of moulding and building a character out of nothing a greater stress? Does this also fill each and every writer with questions of their ability to turn around someone’s life from nothing to a path filled with excitement and happiness?

Status-“Pending Verification”



I remember my twenty first birthday vaguely. A couple of my friends had a small celebration of my coming of age. It was no big deal; I still think adulthood is a lot of hogwash! Other than bringing with it burden and pain, it stresses that you are now responsible for yourself. Of course we Indians as compared to the rest of the world are a spoilt lot. Our parents continue to take care of us till we are either married or working, whatever the age of the child- I could be thirty five, but because I am unmarried, I live with my parents!
Going back to my twenty first, I remember we discussed a lot about being able to vote. Most of my friends and I came from families who moved every three years, it was the norm rather than a novelty. There was no Aadhar card (UID Card) so we never had any ID with a permanent address. The privileged few who had a passport those days were really not bothered about voting. To be honest -as my Face Book page will inform all-, I was apolitical. I had this idea that politics was meant for uneducated and corrupt people of the country. Only criminals and goons played in the political arena . I admit I was wrong! But at that age your attitude is “I am RIGHT about everything”.  If I cast my mind back, what resurfaces is I loved taking all the privileges that I had and ignored the ones that I did not. Its better to walk on clean roads rather than clean the sewers that run underneath them was my motto!
Well, the sewers got murkier! All the dust was swept under the carpet of governance. Like many of my contemporaries, I continued to grumble about the state of affairs. It was in fact a good conversation piece like “the weather”, at parties and get togethers. Fortunately we are in a democratic country where we have the freedom of speech. I must be honest here that many and not all were like me. We had a host of student leaders who tried to bring in changes (debatable whether they were good and positive!) But in their own way they tried, that is more than can be said of me!
I did move out of parents house soon after and started my own family. But I continued to be a nomad. This trickled down to the fact that I did have proof of my permanent address but unfortunately, I was never there when the elections were held. I have to confess now that I have never voted in my life. Once or twice I tried enrolling in the voters list of the then residential place, but the ‘red tape’ was so tortuous that I would give up mid-way!
Life went on; busy life if I may say so! Managing a house, bringing up children, handling the work front, indulging in hobbies socializing… the list is endless. I never really missed not voting. What could any government do that would change my life? The corruption would continue, so would the fleecing of the common people and violence and murder would be meted out to any protestor who dared to question the atrocities! I wanted to be safe , I wanted my family to be safe, so I stayed as far away as possible from any kind of politics.


Maybe it was a biological or chemical change within me- as I approached mid life- I sat up and took stock of myself. From a very jaundiced outlook (I was at the same time diagnosed with a liver disorder!) I grew up to a pacifist frame of mind. I am a fatalist by nature, but I started questioning my beliefs and faith. From a “Know all” I progressed to “All I know”. With the internet boom I realised the limitations of my knowledge. I had always been a voracious reader, the internet made me learn so many new things; you would think I had become wiser than ever before! Yes, I was older, but was I wiser? was a question I would rather avoid answering.
But the General Elections were looming large. I decided I would ink my fingers for the first time in my life. The newspaper and all media sources were filled with easy ways of enrolling yourself as a voter. I had the time and inclination; there was still three months to go before the Elections. I went online, uploaded my photograph and my husband’s too. It took me a whole day to upload all the documents that were needed, onto the website. I felt satisfied and happy that I had done my bit. Now was the waiting period, when they would be verified. I knew it would take time, so I forgot about it for a month (I am a time freak! So you must understand how hard this was for me!)
After a month I checked  the website– the bubble now moved from “documents accepted” to “awaiting verification”. The status remained the same for the next month or so. When April began (the cruellest month according to T.S.Eliot!) I checked again. My status was status quo, but my husband’s status had changed to “rejected”! When I checked further it said that the problem was with his photograph, they also said that they had tried to contact him but had not been able to! I am at home every day, when did anyone come to check anything is the question! And what about me? Why is my status still “Pending Verification”?
The elections have begun, I have no hope that I shall ink my fingers in this one either. For the first time in my life I was trying to be proactive- to bring about a change but whether it was fate or the manipulative government (people say that all our chats and internet data are spied upon!)that has effectively barred me from exercising my right. But I hope my right to speech is not infringed upon and I shall continue to protest through my missiles (after all the pen can be mightier than the sword!)
The dance of Democracy continues to be performed by a bunch of monkeys and donkeys and the so called “intellectuals” sit back and watch the antics!

Of Poets and Poetry

The Oak Tree Speaks

Do you know how many ways there are to die in this city?

1. Speeding taxicab.

2. Open manhole cover.

3. The man breathing so heavy at the bus stop.

When I was a teenager, the boy I loved would pay a homeless

guy ten bucks to buy him the cheapest bottle in the liquor store. 

My love sucked the glass ‘til his teeth were marbles. Rolled

himself down the subway stairs, hopped into the tracks. Waited.

4. Jealous wife.

5. Brooklyn Bridge.

6. Fire escape.

Only once, he let it get so close I screamed. I had never made

that kind of sound before. He turned, his face a prayer wheel

atop his neck, a smile so foreign I could not speak its language.

Like water running in reverse, he spilled himself up to safety.

When the train hurricaned past, the fist of air rattled my branches.

7. Rooftops, all of them.

8. The barroom brawl.

9. The West Side Highway.

10. The wrong street corner.

In New York, when a tree dies, nobody mourns that

it was cut down in its prime. Nobody counts the rings,

notifies the loved ones. There are other trees.

We can always squeeze in one more. Mind the tourists.

It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t wanna live there.

11. Disgruntled coworker.

12. Central Park after dark.

13.  Backpack through the metal detector.

14.  

15.  

16.  

For years, we wouldn’t watch movies where they destroyed

New York. The aliens never take Kansas, we joked. They go straight

for the heart. Poor Kansas. All corn fields and skyworks. All apple

pie.  Nobody to notice if it’s missing. Just all that open space to grow

in.

Sarah Kay

I read this poem, first, on a torn piece of newspaper which was used to wrap flowers. The title had been torn off! So, my introduction was “Do you know how many ways there are to die in this city?” I read on thinking it was a statistical analysis of causes of death.

As I read through it, I realized it was far from that, intrigued I googled it and found this wonderful young poet. Having studied the classical and the neo classics during my college days, I had long since stopped being excited about modern poetry. I felt that the modern poet was turning into an exhibitionist. (The world now was fawning on the loud and show stopper kind of literature) the soul was missing! It did not make me sit up and want to know more.

I was actually introduced to Sarah by my daughter’s enthusiasm for her poems. I first heard her on You Tube and literally sat up to listen to her. But this was not a poem I had heard before.

The personification of the oak tree is what strikes you through the poem. The poem first talks of this boy “she loved” (the poet or the oak tree?) as the number of causes of death continues we are exposed to this boy who is trying to get himself killed, or is he just a tease? The calmness (his face a prayer wheel atop his neck) tells us, he is tempting fate.

I did not start writing this to give a critical analysis of this poem by a great young poet! What I am trying to say that poetry is not dead; it is not limited to the rap lyrics sung by wannabies. What I love about this poet is how she breathes life into her narrative rhythms. I love reading poetry aloud and I do so when I am alone at home. The harmony and peace that it gets me cannot be got by reading the motivational speeches that the market abounds in.

The starkness of her words, bereft of even a semblance of ornament, catches your gut; wrings it to dryness and then lets the phrases explode in your brain with multi-dimensional layers of meanings. The pleasure that it imparts to my parched soul is like water on the desert sand – it is never enough but it continually quenches the inner being.

I bring before you a poem I wrote when I was very young maybe eighteen or so. I wonder now what made me think of such things? Was it the adolescent mind with its chemical battles that make you look at things so deeply? Or is it just a tentative foray into the beautiful world of words and rhythm? Whatever it is, it gives you an insight into not only the poet’s mind but the universal truth that it encompasses. I wish we could go back to the times when reading poetry was a part and parcel of every get together not the incessant playing of Antakshari ( A game where Hindi film songs are sung beginning with the last sound of the song sung before) Poetry which touches your core with the least words and the strongest implications.

Destination

Dull throbbing of muted silence,

Opened up

Myriad options…

The mind took off on a flight to,

Unknown destination.

Multiple possibilities…

Body tittered, laughing anticipation,

Closed and shut

Various limits…

Omnipotent soul hesitated on the brink

Longing, desiring.

So many cycles to go…

Before the ultimate END.

Benita Patnaik

Autos, shopping and birthday discounts!

I decided not to take the car- it’s a pain when you are stuck in a traffic jam with San Francisco type of steep roads! I did not take the Uber either as it is double the price of the ever present Auto on Mumbai roads. I mean you just walk out of your apartment and there is someone to take you wherever you want to, as against booking an Uber on your App, then waiting for the driver to come and then paying for your last trip (I invariably forget to pay it immediately!).
 
So here I was sitting in the yellow and black tuk-tuk waiting for the traffic to move. I thanked God for not having taken the car! Only a Mumbaikar can understand what it is to be stuck in a traffic jam on a narrow steep road! The sun was beating down mercilessly on me, so I shifted to the middle of my seat. The school bus and the BEST bus were both trying to inch their way to the left of the road and the trail of Autos were snaking in and out like a rat amongst an Elephant herd- irritating but unavoidable!
After a minor surgery which had made me home-bound for two weeks, I was going out on a solo window shopping “shall pick up if I like something” kind of trip. The big boss was out on a conference and the children were living their own lives. I got a lot of “Have Fun” stickers from all three when I woke up in the morning! I knew I was going to beat my goal of ten thousand steps that day, so I dutifully did my stretching exercise before I started out on my adventure.
There is a lot of construction going on for the metro so after braving the elements on the very steep road, we were stuck again at another traffic jam.
 I admire the  new age Auto drivers! Most of them have their cell phones fixed on the steering wheel a la Uber drivers and they have earphones through which they are either listening to music or watching something on their phones. Most of them are not overweight (as were their erstwhile predecessors) and many, if not all, have some kind of uniform (Totally white or totally Khaki). But like their predecessors they have one leg tucked under them and the other foot is also bare; their sandals kept neatly by their side.

Making a living out of the noisy polluted life lines of the city without losing their cool is admirable! They have the patience to inch their way into gaps; they have the courage to go “where no man has gone before” and the talent to pass by huge buses within millimetres of getting crushed between two big ones! Very few lose their cool and they have a good word as they pass by their colleagues on the road. But they judge their passengers too. I have seen them take out two rupees and give it the poorer people, but they are always without change when they need to return anything to me! Its ok, they charge me half the price of an Uber so two rupees is okay.

I spent four hours at the Mall. The air conditioned precinct was a pleasure after being on the road for an hour, that too for a distance of less than four kilometres. I would have reached faster had I walked!
I had fun; trying out outlandish clothes; browsing all kinds of accessories; looking longingly at the slim mannequins with their bizarre but stylish dresses. I had the money but not the figure to carry them off! I thought I was being clever- buying only what I would wear (I almost picked up inappropriate clothes, but good sense prevailed, and I left them at the billing counter!) After doing the rounds of the designer clothing stores (I picked up quite a few bargains!), I decided to break for lunch (already seven thousand steps done!).

Guilty indulgence of coffee with burger and fries (Had decided to skip dinner anyway- so forgivable!) I tightened my girdle and started on the last leg of my adventure. Till now I had avoided the pitfall of being seduced at the offer of twenty percent off because its my birthday month!( Every store offers you a loyalty card and as this is my favourite hunting ground, everyone knows my birthday month!) With a full stomach, and no time or budget limit I entered the last of my arena. I did get a couple of things, but it added up to a measly two thousand rupees so not much of a discount. I decide I would not claim it but then I realised that to claim it I would have to shop again within that month, so catch twenty two situation. 

While I was dithering, I had come to the top of the line and the billing chap immediately said,“Ma’am this is your birthday month, why don’t you pick up something else? You will get flat twenty percent off.”

I confess to the whole wide world that at that moment my defences were down. I have another secret guilty pleasure- I love buying bed sheets and the store has a great collection (two of my cupboards are filled with bedsheets in the house!) the pleasure of sleeping on a crisp and clean bed linen is to die for (if I had the energy, I would change my sheets every day)

About turn and I spent a pleasurable fifteen minutes amongst the bedsheets and got my birthday discount.

I made three people happy- myself, the billing guy and much later the auto guy whom I tipped seven rupees as he did not have change and I was laden with the spoils of  the battle.