अब, क्या लिखूं ?

सूख गयी नमी शिशिर की
रह गयी बस बन कर
एक अध् लिखा पन्ना
-- कुछ भरा --
मेरी कल्पना की छींटों से

अब, जब आ खडा
ग्रीषम ऋतू
मेरे कवित्य के द्वार
अब, जब सूरज का बढता तेज
छलकता मुझ में, बन तेज़ाब की सियाही

अब, क्या लिखूं ?

Summer Languors

Untitled

In the afternoon, liquid bursts of taste
white rice and this season's first
green coconut chutney.

Then, that languor of doing
nothing but toss and turn
a siesta -- another forced festivity.

In the evening, the familiars
an unslept feel, the failure
of the water pump to bring up even cool air.

Soon summer will colour everything
with the brassiness of its heat,
spreading a somnolence, vaporising ink.


***

Untitled

As the sun grows
in vehemence, burns
with its light,
I -- this Sharira
for found meanings --
am a vessel on boil.

A bit of the road and my first field birding trip

I am not a compulsive blogger and I am chronologically challenged
too. On top of it all, every time I post up here I am heavily spammed in
the form of comments by various bots. And I can tell you its a fucking
nuisance to have to repeatedly hit the "notify as spam" button and yet see
the same bots do the same thing down the line.

So you can say I have my reasons for being silent out here. But now that my
father has recovered (in fact, apart from the bypass surgery he had -- from
a very bad self-inflicted scalding because he poured hot water over himself
in a hotel bathroom at Tirumala) and the book moves on
as poetry does, I hope to blog more here on this online journal
of my days (for whatever it is worth).

And in time, I hope I will get used to the bots crapping here, I guess
the way I have got used to all and sundry Facebook comments and notifications.

How I digress, you will say!

**

If you like having the wind in your face, if you like the road (whatever
it means to you, there are a thousand and one "road" philosophies, and
then some) you would know that in India there is no better time to
ride than in the winter -- when the temperature is a bracing "not-even-warm"
in the day and the nights though chilly (and very much so, even around
Hyderabad,lately)are just right to gather around a fire or a Dhaba's tandoor,
when you have that gloriously golden evening light that gives chrome a
glint that is downright in-describable.

And most of the winter past I wasn't exactly in a position to ride, couldn't
get away, did not want to be far from home. But then, as all good things
happen in time, I did manage to be in a position to answer the call of the
road around the third week of January.

It so happens that my trusted (and much loved) Bullet will turn 10 years
this May; and though I still don't know what it amounts to, this extended
ownership of and loyalty to the same set of wheels, these highway miles
that we have shared together, I do know that (though there are the usual
pitfalls and worries) there is no better way to eat up the miles than on a
Royal Enfield.

And (since I have been part of four of them) I will also say, there is
no better biker event to ride to than the annual Rider Mania conducted
by the Bullet clubs every January.This year's event was held on the
outskirts of Delhi, by the Royal Beasts.

Most importantly, last year I had fallen en route to Rider Mania
(at Kolkata) so this time around it was important that I be there. If for
nothing else, just for the pure pleasure of calling myself a biker.

But then, I had goofed up and my Bullet was not exactly ready for the road
and I was a total "mixed pickle" in the head; all at ends and in no position
to plan for the road. At around the same time my good friend
Bikram of the Road Survivors Chandigarh offered to lend me his
Bullet. Which meant that I could take a train to Delhi and then
another to Chandigarh.

And then ride out in a group (and a fairly large one) to Manesar.

350 or so kms each way (I am just guessing, the Thunderbird Bikram lent
me had no functional odometer) through cold winds which felt like a wet
cloth touching the exposed parts of the skin (in the day) and made me
feel like a Bedouin would in Greenland (in the night) still isn't much of
a Rider Mania tour. But I will take it, riding as I was with a "recuperated"
collar bone, on a strange (the Thunderbird's brake and gear levers
are opposite to that of my Bullet) bike, wearing an open-faced helmet
without a proper retaining strap provided the rest of the edge.

As did the effort of reining myself in, not opening the throttle
wide open, after all one doesn't push a bike lent by a friend
to the limits, does one?

The ride from Chandigarh to Manesar apart, there was quite a bit
of riding that I did in Chandigarh itself. This was my fourth
visit to Chandigarh and I consider myself genuinely fortunate
to have friends in this lovely city of well planned Sectors
(reminiscent of the Sectors of Rourkela) as also the lovely
Paranthas, the wayside "spring rolls" and the roundabouts.

But my most enduring memory of Chandigarh will remain the number
of turbans and the number of brightly coloured groups -- of women
and men standing out in the sun and doing nothing much but basking,
like so many butterflies. Maybe its because, it is summer and getting
hotter by the day when I write this, and I am always looking forward
to the coming of the butterflies :-)

**

It has been more than a year since I have been seriously "birding".
And while I am no ornithologist or even someone with a Graduate level
of knowledge of zoology (and by inference or extension, of birds) I
am a bit surprised about how well I have taken to it. About how fast
my development has been, about how I delight in seeing birds everywhere,
even in humdrum urban situations -- like the Black Kites of Hyderabad,
Vizag,Delhi and Chandigarh; or the Sparrows, Munias, Prinias, Silverbills
and Starlings (and crows) all around my place; or the almost "blessed
sighting" of a Peacock / Hornbill crossing over from one patch of urban
forestry to another, right over the head of road-borne me; or seeing
very green Parakeets disappear into the dirty grey monotony of a
telephone pole and so on...

And I have been getting away from it all too, stalking waterbirds,
peacocks, kingfishers, sandpipers, rollers, koels, shrikes and the
like, identifying woodpeckers, hoopoes, barbets and the like, even
as the photography has become -- in conjunction with my increasing
levels of patience and application of field-craft -- better, day by
day. And through all these days, I have continually thought about
being out in a forest / sanctuary for much more than just a couple
of hours, continually thought about the "birding bliss" of coming
across a bird that I have come across online or read about in the
accounts of someone like Kenneth Anderson. Coming across it in
flesh and blood, perched in sight and holding me rapt in attention,
transfixed like a kid looking a gift horse in the face.

As such, way back from Chandigarh, it was but natural that I landed
up at Bharatpur (especially since my much anticipated trip to
Amritsar was not happening because of the freakish cold) considering
that it was almost directly on the way back home.

And I spent a blissful 4 days at Bharatpur, cycling into the park on
a daily basis shooting a bevy of "first sightings" -- as myriad as
Nightjars, White-tailed eagles, Sarus cranes and Treepies and as
common as Painted Storks and Common Coots.

Looking back, the best part of those four days was an encounter
with a Shikra (juvenile, me thinks) in a thicket. I did not
understand when I was clicking away -- why the Shikra wouldn't fly
away, but just hop within the thicket. I must have shot some 30-40
"keepers" of the guy and finally left bemused because I did
not want to spook him / her. Later on, I saw why the bird was
behaving that way, it had one claw badly wounded and probably
in no mood to do any flying away or gallivanting. From what little
I know of raptors being that close to one is "rare" and I will
certainly cherish this encounter. Who cares if the Shikra wasn't
"perfect"? Am I? Are you?

Ink Dries -- A reading at Lamakaan

The last time Mr. Vijay Marur had lent his voice to bring my poems alive
was at the launch of my first book Moving On at the auditorium of State
Gallery of Fine Arts and looking at the numerous empty chairs, I had
mentally kicked myself for not being able to put together a packed
house -- something that a performer with immaculate credentials in
theatre like Mr. Marur deserved. Incidentally I also felt sad because
(while on the stage and looking out at the empty chairs) I got more
than one SMS from the audience (many of them first timers at any
poetry reading) saying -- "this guy is mind-blowing" and more to
that effect. I mean, what better way to introduce people to the
atmosphere and the sonics of a poetry reading than an event such as
this.

But -- immaterial of how high-thinking or literary your intentions be
you cannot force people to come, can you? And let's face it, if there
is one genre that is misunderstood and shunned repeatedly, it has to
be poetry.

Which is why (in all probability) there were empty chairs galore at
Lamakaan and I could have kicked myself so hard as to do permanent
damage to my ability for locomotion.

The rest of it was excellent; Mr. Marur as usual read my poems to
a rapt audience and we even had a creditable (the joke is on me
really) discussion with him wanting to know why some of the poems
in the book are earthy, whether I write all my poems in situ and so on.

Then we had Lamakaan's "Kaanch Ke Gilaas Mein" Irani Chhai, had a
small impromptu discussion (either sides of a power cut), I thanked
everyone who had come, had a bit of a discussion with N and it was
all over.

A big thank you to Mr. Vijay Marur, to Lamakaan and all those who
could make it to the event. As for those of you who couldn't, I do
understand what it means to labour through the prosaics of distance
and traffic on a weekday! It had to be a weekday because that was
the only slot available at Lamakaan this month.

And I will also say this in conclusion -- I don't see myself as
a "sad" poet or an "angsty" poet. I do have what is the writer's
angst and I do have some other angsts; but I am okay with them,
I can live with them. What I don't want to be is a "vain" poet
who explains the profundity of each and every word chosen by himself
at the very first opportunity. What I cannot be is a frivolous poet,
as I have always been afflicted by gravitas. But it's okay, I am
comfortable in my skin about being serious and about living
with a writer's angst. And I am as happy as anyone else out there;
life is good, can be better!

Thank you.

A reading of poems from Ink Dries at Lamakaan on 20th March

My fervent apologies for being out of action here for so long. Thing
is that too many things have been happening (or not happening) in the
last couple of months and since I am more or less chronologically
challenged -- I haven't been able to write about all of them in time.

Maybe I will, soon.

Speaking of chronology, in a couple of hours from now, there is a reading
of poems from Ink Dries at Lamakaan. Truth be told, this is something I
have been trying to set up for more than two months and failing to.

But then, all good things happen in their own time I guess.

So today evening (finally) it is Lamakaan for me and Ink Dries
as I will be in conversation with, and my poetry will be read
by the one and only Vijay Marur. I know it is very, very short
notice but if you are seeing this in time and are based in Hyderabad
please do come over.

Lamakaan is in lane Adjacent to CBay, Opposite GVKOne, Road No 1, Banjara Hills, Hyderabad

The reading is from 6.30 onwards.