Walls have Fears

On walls live creatures
They don’t just have ears
They have eyes and they have teeth
And they sure don’t have tears

What adds to their terrors
Is that they can’t be easily seen
But you can feel their presence
If you are one of their victims

They can communicate with each other
With a system more sophisticated
Than that of elephants or whales
It’s so sophisticated that only
Intelligent Design can explain them

They have concrete manifestations
But they are mostly abstract
No wonder so is their food
They don’t eat your meat
They eat your lives and your work and your protestations

You can be safe from them if you want
It’s all a matter of belief and loyalty and obedience
As it has always been through the ages
With other kinds of fearsome creatures

The question is whether you accept
The benevolent supremacy of the Intelligent Designer
Who put them there to watch over you

Just believe and abide and salvation can be yours
Don’t and you, with your work and your life
Can be completely mucked up, inside and outdoors

Milk as Karma

Someone called someone milk
Milk as noun or milk as verb?
Milk as the subject or milk as the object?
Milk as the karta or milk as the karma?

The answer appears as a vision
Of huge torrents of something
(It could very well be milk
Of, you know, something)
Flowing from one end
Of the Zipf’s Law curve
To the other end

Inverted Inbreeding

Minus of minus is plus
And inbreeding is bad
So inverted inbreeding must be good

Rhetorical Questions on Ownership

If I compose a poem
While visiting your home
And having a post-meal nap
In your home
Does the poem belong to you?

If I write a poem
On the last page of the notebook
That you gave me and
Which contains the addresses
Of the people to whom I deliver
Items of furniture
As a means of survival
Does the poem belong to you?

If I live in a small room
Crammed with all my current
And parts of my old life
And I pay the standard rent
Regularly for the room
Like everyone else
Does a poem written in that room
Belong to you
Because I used a room owned by you?

If I burn my blood
Day and night, apart from
Doing my work under your pay
And manage to finish
A life sapping and lifespan reducing epic
Does the epic belong to you
Because I wrote it while working for you
And sometimes using your pen and ink?

But you didn’t pay me for writing it
You didn’t even ask me to write it
Most probably you didn’t even want me to
Because you don’t care for things
Written by nobodies who are working for you
And which are not worth much in the market

It may be a two penny epic
But does it belong to you?

If it happens to become a million dollar one
Does it then belong to you?

If I sit on the railway station
While waiting for a train
In the station restaurant
And write a poem on the tissue paper
Provided to me by the restaurant owner
Does the poem belong to the restaurant?

If my laptop is not working
And I borrow yours
And while I am using it
I write a poem using your laptop
Does the poem belong to you?

What if I even used
One or two words written
On the calendar hanging on your wall
Written on the cover of the notebook of addresses
Or on the hoarding visible
Only from the window of the room
Rented by me and owned by you
What if I referred to images
I see on the railway station
Or flashing on the T.V. in the restaurant
Something on the screensaver of your laptop
Or a line written on the notes
With which you paid me
Does the poem belong to you?

The poem that you keep reading
And may be keep damning
But don’t have to pay me extra for
Does it belong to you?

It does, does it?
Well, as a reader
Or as a property owner?

To Whomsoever It May Concern

This is to inform the readers (if any) of this blog that none of the posts on it are about any individual.

If you have been reading this blog, you would know that the one thing it is about is the individual’s place in and relation with the society. And the stand on this topic that comes up again and again in the posts on this blog (never literally, except here, but otherwise in all ways) is the individual’s right to be left in peace if that individual is not doing anything atrocious against the society or other individuals. Note that I don’t mean even this seemingly clear statement of the stand to be taken very literally. But you can understand it if you want to.

I simply don’t write about individuals, except if they are public figures and even then only about their public statements and actions.

But I do write about the society, the institution (the general, abstract institution) and the system. And, of course, there are people who are parts of these (as I am too). In that sense I do write about the individual in his or her role as a member of one of these.

Also, this is a literary (and occasionally academic) blog, not a blog about, say, my daily activities. There are essays and poems on this blog. Even one story. So I would be offended if you insist on calling them mere posts, as would be any person who writes (literary) poems.

A poem is a poem is a poem, even if it appears on a blog, technically as a post. So is an essay. So is a story.

How good they are may be a matter of debate.

Yes, my personal experiences may act as catalysts for my writings, but isn’t that true of every writer worth his salt?

झगड़ा नको

चलो बहुत हो गया
कसाई और बकरे का झगड़ा
अब हाथ मिला लेते हैं
आज से हमारी-तुम्हारी दुश्मनी खत्म

आगे वही बढ़ते हैं
जो साथ मिल के चलते हैं
अब से हम-तुम भी साथ-साथ चलेंगे
मिल-जुल के सफ़र करेंगे

बहुत से हैं दुनिया में
जो झिक-झिक में वक़्त ज़ाया करते हैं
या फिर बड़ी-बड़ी बातें किया करते हैं
जहाँ भाई-चारे से काम चल सकता है
वहाँ बेकार की बहस में लगे रहते हैं

हमने भी यह ग़लती की अब तक
चलो आज से इसे सुधार लेते हैं
एक-दूसरे से कड़वी बातें नहीं कहेंगे
प्यार-मुहब्बत से ज़िंदगी भर रहेंगे

न तुम हमें काटो
न हम तुम्हें काटेंगे
ये एक-दूसरे को काटना खत्म
एक नये युग की शुरुआत करेंगे

दुनिया है और दुनिया में ज़िंदगी है
तो कटना-काटना तो होता ही रहेगा
पर अब मिल-जुल कर काटा करेंगे

कभी बकरा मिलेगा तो कभी कसाई मिलेगा
पर एकता की ताक़त के सामने कौन टिकेगा?

Birds with Wings on the Front

I like to watch birds
But I watch different kinds of birds
Those who have wings
Which remain folded and rest on the front
Like rounded conical inverted cups
Like very small puffed umbrella tops
I don’t know what these birds do with them
But I for one can fly on them
Just by the act of looking at them
Or may be even without that
As in just by the memory of them

There is much more to these birds
Than their folded inverted cup like wings
But let’s not go astray and dilute the topic
Like someone else, as was shown In his biopic
With regard to this, I am a real connoisseur
You might make the same claim, monsieur
But I insist that I am one of the best
Alas, unfortunately, I fail one big test
These birds don’t seem to like me much

What a pity!
What a shame!
Because for me
These birds are
Not just fair game

You are not my friend, but you could be

I hear that some of you
Refer to me as your friend
Please don’t do that
Because it’s not true

I have relatives and parents
I have acquaintances and colleagues
I even have seniors and juniors
But I don’t have friends

If you want to call me your friend
You will first have to be my friend
And I will have to be your friend too
Till that happens
(If it does)
Please stop calling me your friend

Those who anyway don’t
And certainly won’t
Can please ignore

They will
Anyway
Won’t they?

पेट की चीख़

प्रतिक्षण प्रतीक्षा का प्रहार
साहबों के गले में फूलों का हार
बासी खिचड़ी और अधसड़ा अचार
प्यास से गठबंधित पेय
और भूख से हठबंधित आहार
चैन की नींद के फालूदे का जलता स्वाद

तृप्त शरीरों और तरोताज़ा चेहरों की गुफ़्तगू
नहा कर नये कपड़े पहने शब्दों का
मंजे हुए दांतों, घिसी हुई जीभों और धुले-पुंछे होंठों से लेकर
तौलिये से रगड़कर साफ़ किए हुए कानों तक
कुशल यातायात प्रणाली के तहत आवागमन

पाचन तंत्र के रसों से घायल आमाशय
और सूखी-जली आँतों का घुटता हुआ दम
नींद की कमी से तिलमिलाते मस्तिष्क का
गले से होकर उतरता ही जाता गुस्सा

पर मानवी सभ्यता के मंदिर में भी गूंजता
और बाकी सभी शब्दों को ढक लेता हुआ
एक आदिम, बल्कि पाशविक उद्गम का,
लेकिन एकदम सभ्य सुसंस्कृत सवाल —
मेरे पेट की चीख़ सुनी तो नहीं किसी ने?

[2009]

Hait Hitler

We hait Hitler
No, no!
We don’t Hail Hitler
We Hait Hitler

Why?

Are you serious?

For God’s sake!

He looked like Charlie Chaplin
He walked like Charlie Chaplin
He talked like Charlie Chaplin

He even acted like Charlie Chaplin

Why else?