Indian Ocean rocks (Concert for AID India, at MIT Cambridge)

Indian Ocean provided an enthralling evening of fusion music to an audience that was constantly in raptures. The two guitars strummed Eastern melodies and Western symphonies in tandem, while the drummer and tabla player displayed both skill and maturity in their percussion. The idea of raising money for development projects is a commendable one in itself. By roping in a band that creates a music based on poems that are meaningful and socially conscious is a masterstroke from AID India. I will write about AID India some other day, for now, let me just say a few things about the performance.

Indian Ocean is best known for songs from their much loved album Kandisa., and they did perform a few songs from their highly acclaimed album. Susmit Sen on guitar produced sounds that brought the melody of Indian string instruments: sitar and santoor alive. His partner from the time of inception of the band, Asheem, sat surrounded by half a dozen tablas. While his percussion was immaculate, his vocal cords seem to have an Aseem (unbounded or limitless) range. Amit Kilam on drums was good but when he stepped away to play a tribal instrument for the song Ma Rewa, his performance was spell-binding. Throughout the evening the artists jammed with each other, showing why they have the reputation of fusing jazz, rock, folk and Indian classical into a dynamic sound of their own. Throughout the show, Rahul did most of the talking. His humor was spot on, and so was his hand on guitar, his vocals and his jamming with his partners in crime. (I later searched and found that he has a PhD in environmental toxicology from Cornell, which explains why he was talking about insecta and weevils and anthropods: all of which surprised and amused the audience!). Together the band provided a high energy, fast paced, sometime foot-tapping, sometime heart-stopping, sometime lilting rendition.

When Lorca spoke about finding duende as an artist, he used the example of gypsy singers who use both the range of their vocal cords and heart-strung melodies to enrapture the audience. When the band renders song after song in high pitched melodies, backed by the stories that associate these with social movements and movies, the effect is bound to be potent and poignant. The band performed three songs that are used in movies: one from Black Friday, another from Swaraj and the third one, was an unreleased song from a movie that is still under production. These movies and themes of their songs involve Hindu-Muslim riots, bribery and corruption, Independence movement, Kabir's message as the backdrop. Yet the message is somewhat hidden, it is subtle, it is buried beneath the grand slam of strings and drumbeats, it mellowed by the dramatic interludes of humor, it is sung in lyrics written in dialects not familiar to the audience. The rhythm was of the rock stars, the rhyme was of sufi singers, the melody was Indian and the performance, in general was as professional and as jazzy as of a Rock band can be. When I watched Indian Ocean perform, about a decade back, I left the hall somewhat disenchanted. I discovered today that they have found their voice, they have found their zone, they have found the duende!

Is this the beginning of the end of capitalism?

The rate at which banks are disappearing and the scale of losses reported by every financial behemoth perhaps flags the beginning of the end of capitalism. The free market system is collapsing and the story of capitalism seems to be following the script followed by the collapse of the communist regimes. A house of cards falls at the first storm, but a fort falls apart more painfully, piece by piece, till a portion collapses, and then the process goes on for decades. There is a sense of loss for all of us who have planned our lives around the possibilities in a capitalist world. In the present world, uncertainty is feeding rumors and paucity of credit is driving banks and governments to the brink of desperation.

Twenty years back United Soviet Socialist Republic started to crumble, ending the largest communist nation that had existed for nearly seven decades. The collapse of the Soviet Union marked the end of Cold War that had divided the world into at least two blocs. The years that preceded the final melt down of the nation that symbolized communism included a war in Afghanistan and change in policy in USSR by Gorbachev's policies that allowed Soviet countrymen freedom of expression. Incidentally US is involved in a war on Afghanistan, perhaps fighting the people trained covertly at its own expense once, to take down an enemy as mighty as itself. While USSR economy epitomized how communist system can be made to work, and then be abused, USA so far had been the prime example of how market forces work and in our times, flounder. While the communist USSR began to fail as it started giving more freedom to people, the capitalist USA is said to have increased vigilance over its citizens in past years.

The two systems - communist and capitalist - were both born after the collapse of regimental rule of emperors and kings. Both developed in response to the desire for something different and better than the system that existed before. The communists wanted to reduce everyone and everything to the lowest common denominator. The capitalists wanted to allow everyone and everything to grow as per demand and supply determined it. Communists thought rigid control of property and industries by the government is the key, capitalists rooted for private property and private ownership. Communists chose for people, limited their choices (ask any East European about the state sanctioned amounts of groceries). Capitalists encouraged people to pick from a number of goods. Communists created demand by limiting the supply, capitalists by exhibiting it. While communists provided for (lower quality) universal health care, education and employment, capitalists created a system where quality of health, education and employment was determined by how much people were willing to pay or strive for. Both systems worked in their own way: generated a world where competition send the Man to the moon, Olympics saw winners from both worlds, scientists and inventors lurked and emerged from both societies, and art of every form blossomed in different styles in both places. Incidentally, capitalists looked down upon communists and vice versa.

Alas! The humanity adds its own perversity to any principle, any ideal, any system. Even the best made plans are laid waste by the irrationality of the human thoughts and actions, and thus what works in theory (free market as well as communist state) runs into turmoil in reality. The virtue and vice are exist within everything in this world. (Rephrased from Tulsidas: jad chetan gun doshmaya, vishwa kin kartar). While communists equated capitalists with greedy pigs, the Animal farm of communists was said to exist on the principle that some men are more equal than the others.

The question about capitalism, and its longevity as an ideal that we must work towards, has become most crucial in our day and our time. What has capitalism failed to give us? Perhaps health and education, perhaps clean air and robust public transportation, perhaps economic equality. What did communist fail to give us? Quality education, freedom of speech and choice, democracy. Incidentally, as US has been the greatest symbol of democratic form of the government, it will be interesting to see of the institution of democracy outlasts its champion. India, which is the largest democracy, has seen this institution become a refuge for hardened criminals, and the politics of vote is driving corruption, communalism and casteism to the level beyond which catastrophe is the only possibility.

Where do we go from here? What will be the dominant financial system in the world in twentyfirst century? Will the axis of power shift again to Europe, or to Asia? Will America survive the crisis, and come out stronger? Will the economic crisis worsen when energy crisis kicks in? As economic meltdown continues, will the immigration laws in US, import duties in many countries change for worse? Will this crisis provide the launching pad for a new religion?

Is this the beginning of the end of capitalism?

Boston Bhaaratiya

I am watching the Charles in Boston wake up,
as buildings release fog and the sun smiles
over ducks swimming to their morning chores.

The river bedecked with shimmering reflections
craves to pour itself into the oceanic currents
and add more of the twenty-first century to an ageless sea.

The salt of my toil is washed into you Charles!
Take it to the ocean, take it to my ancestors,
and leave it in Dandi, India, as a tribute from me.

Seven Short Novels by Anton Chekhov

A masterful sketch of the mannerisms of common folks

Anton Chekhov was a master of drawing portraits of common people. The seven short novels included in this collection provide a glimpse of Russian society. Chekhov provides a snapshot after snapshot of the lifestyle of his characters, focusing on their ideas and actions with a detached, but conscious word play. The reader finds himself drawn to characters that are flawed and life-like, and every idiosyncrasy of human existence is revealed in somewhat commonplace circumstances and settings.

These stories include "Ward No. 6", "Peasants" and "My Life", which are highly representative of Chekhov's style and ability. These stories provide a very subtle, but important counterpoint to Tolstoy's thoughts and writings. Around this time, Leo Tolstoy was articulating his vision of society and Christianity in texts like "The Kingdom of Heaven is Within You", where he glorifies the peasants, manual labor and poor, suggesting that the rich are immoral and responsible for the suffering of masses. Tolstoy had lived a luxurious life compared to Chekhov, and so his impressions and ideas were formed by observations from a distance. Chekhov grew up in harsher circumstances, and had a first hand experience of living among the common people. In Chekhov's stories, the common people lie, cheat, bribe, drink, steal, help each other and make each other happy or miserable, without the need of divine or aristocratic influence. In Chekhov's stories, the philosophical is often pushed to background, as practical daily chores and needs take center-stage.

While Dostoevsky was master of psychological selves of his characters and Tolstoy was a titan in capturing life of (rich) Russians, Chekhov's sensibility drew him to the trivialities, to the humor and tragedy of the masses. He wrote about these with sympathy, but in his honest depiction of his characters, he leaves no aspect untouched. Thus his stories seem to criticize the ones that he chooses to write about: be it peasants or city dwellers, the workers or the government servants. The shameful, pitiful or repelling facets of his characters are representative of human beings that have ever constituted the majority among us. Even in his time, the stories were controversial for their socio-political criticisms. Yet Chekhov was not criticizing anyone, or offering any solutions to the predicaments and problems of existence in different social circles. Chekhov wrote about his subjects as it is, as they were. These stories are based on Russian people, and yet they represent the reality in every part of the world. (I am sure that all the characters described in these stories abound in India!)

The stories must be read by anyone who has constructed a rosy picture of rural life or manual labor in their minds. These stories are must read for communists, for them who believe that poverty makes men moral, for them who believe that ignorance is bliss, for them who wish to know how human beings of every class behave in real life. Be it individuals or social milieu, Chekhov fashions events, dialogues and descriptions that are vivid, terse and precise and hence these stories are examples of how a writer must write. Highly recommended.

			Seven Short Novels by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

कभी फुर्सत से मिलेंगे (kabhi fursat se milenge)

कभी फुर्सत में मिलेंगे, एक जाम थामे,
कुछ गज़लें कहेंगे सुनेंगे,
कभी शांति से बैठेंगे, किसी पहाड़ी झील किनारे,
पंछियों के गीत टहनियों में तलाशेंगें
अभी मैं तनहा बैठ कर, खुद से सलाह करलूं,
सत्य-साहित्य-विज्ञान से, मुलाकातें अथाह करलूं,
क्या अर्थ है, क्या बाट हो, कैसे गीत हों पग पग पर,
अभी मैं सवालों के सारे स्वरूपों से स्वयं का श्रृंगार करलूं,
अभी ऋण है मुझपर कई सपनों का,
कई अपनों की अधूरी इच्छायों का हासिल एक मुकाम करलूं
कभी फुर्सत से मिलेंगे,
अभी इन चुनौतियों से भिड कर, कुछ घावों से सज लूँ,
कभी फुर्सत से मिलेंगे,
अभी जिंदगी से किये वादों का सम्मान करलूं!

Poetry 101 or Poetry Basics

(Written as a review/critique of Sisters in Rhyme, an anthology published by sulekha; See here for details)

Required reading for the people who wish to be called poets (and poetry editors)

1) Poems by Shakespeare, Yeats, Keats, Wordsworth, Frost, Neruda, Tagore, Lorca, Billy Collins, Thomas Lux, Knott, TS Eliot, Pushkin, Akhmatova, Charles Simic, Ted Kooser, Rilke, Rumi, Kabir, Goethe, Ghalib, Mir, Dard, Dag, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Gulzar, Sylvia Plath, Elizabeth Bishop, Emily Dickinson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, DH lawrence, Thomas Hardy, Dinkar, Subramanium Bharati, Tulsidas, Kalidas, Mahadevi Verma, Bachchan, Nirala, Subhadrakumari Chauhaan, Sarojini Naidu, Vikram Seth, Jeet Thayil, Nissim, Ezikeil, Dom Moraes, Ramanujam, Sahir Ludhyanvi, etc. (Included a lot of female poets, just to ensure that sisters in rhyme can see them if they consider male poets as too confined)


and some essays and guidelines:

2) Best words, best order by Stephen Dobyns
3) Letters to a young poet by Rilke
4) Poetry handbook by Mary Oliver
5) Rhyme's reason by Hollander
.......
1000) Primer for poets by Karl Shapiro


Poetry requires craftmanship, creativity, labor and talent. If any one of these is not good enough, it fails to inspire, last, please, exist!


{Adding lines from my comments}

I suppose people agree with what I said here, or maybe they consider me as someone whose opinions are irrelevant or irreverant. In either case, my idea was to foster a useful list for anyone who is willing to use it for their own progress.

I personally think that sulekha has transitioned into a popularity contest, and therein lies its success and failing. The idea of publishing authors from sulekha is brilliant; but if they want the published books to be taken seriously, the content must be chosen by editors and writers who know grain from chaff. Many of the poems linked to the blog would not qualify for publication in the most ordinary of magazines and journals. If sulekha seriously believes in "sulekh" and wants to nourish "good writing", they must have people on the board who take literature and creativity seriously.

Art is hard work. Talent is as easy to find as is a toothpick. But someone who can fashion a masterpiece is rarer. Value the talent, value the effort, but it takes a real discovery on the part of someone to be revered as Einstein, Newton, Heisenberg, Poincare. It takes some real talent and work from someone to become Van Gogh, Mozart, WS Maugham, Rushdie, Ghalib. It requires "tapasya" or penance, and a devotion that is there irrespective of what rewards are offered or not.

But neither these ideas or the practice comes without long drawn effort; and even then not every cup will hold the "amrita" or "nectar". Yet sing on, o bards, for every poem has some audience and some purpose, like every food item has. Delicacy is not for everyday, and also not for everyone to offer or have.

(More from my response to comments)

I do not quite agree with the common stance that success and greatness is relative, and depends upon how you choose your standards. There is perhaps no one who won't know difference between Tagore poem and the one written by a five year old rhymster. There is a difference between Tendulkar and Dravid, Lara and Chandrapaul, Kumble and Sunil Joshi eventhough in these cases, we are still comparing relative greatness and success. But if you say that Ganguly is no better than the best batsman in the streets of Baraelli, I will be obliged to think that your knowledge of cricket and standards of comparison are flawed. The reason why Tolstoy and Dostovesky are considered great writers has something to do with how well they write, how profound and universal their stories are, how well crafted characters are part of well orchestered narrative, and how they engage the minds and hearts of readers across space and time. Don't you think so?

(and more)

Once a piece of writing leaves from personal notebook, and if you want anyone to read it and maybe appreciate it, all rules of communication, grammar and composition apply. I have said this before that the world is more musical because of bathroom singers, and I guess I am one myself. But I don't expect all bathroom singers to take the stage and become performers. But if they wish to do so, they must be ready for putting in the hours of "riyaaz" (practice). A shoddy performance, even if excuses exist, is still a shoddy performance, and the spectator who criticizes it may not do it due to jealously, envy (sour grapes), but because he feels cheated when he must clap for something, that the performer himself thinks is average at best.

Fortunately, I have read most of the poets I listed, and trust me, it is a rewarding experience. When every sentence is laden with aethestic beauty, every word is chosen becuase it provides both the right music, and contexual meaning, the poem itself transcends the page, and becomes a part of your intellectual and emotional experience.

As I already said before, I can see why sulekha has chosen to pick and publish people, and in my own way, I have always supported sulekha's efforts. Like a loving parent or teacher, who chides his kids or student, for their faults, I sit here and comment on things. I suppose I love poetry and literature too deeply. I expect to read the writers who act and perform like a cricket team, where I will ever wish to see a competitive unit, a proper demonstration of every skill, and attention to every aspect of the game. Maybe I will sit and watch "gully" (street) cricket at times, clap at it, participate in it, pat a decent performance. Yet I think it wise and important to keep everything in perspective!

God Particles: Poems by Thomas Lux

God Particles by Thomas Lux is his eleventh book of poetry. His verses contain rather striking and unusual images that disturb or amuse at first and then coalesce into feelings more lasting than the initial reaction. Look at some of the titles in this collection: Hitler's slippers, Sleep ambulance, Stink eye, Gravy boat goes over the waterfall, Jesus' baby teeth, Apology to my neighbors for beheading their duck, The deathwatch beetle, Sex after funerals, Toad on golf tee and of course, the title poem, God particles.

The words that flow out of these striking titles make us traverse through landscapes that are vivid and well-crafted. The abstract world of poetry is absent from the lines that saunter through (natural) elements that have pleasure for children (and adults): ants, bees, stink eye, peacocks in twilight, toads and moles. Lux hunts for words and metaphors in realms that most poets would not venture into: the harmonic scalpel, the republic of anesthesia, vinegar on chalk (all poem titles). His similes are as uncommon as "His thoughts like a deck of cards hit/ by a howitzer." (from Puzzlehead).

The unmistakable skill of Thomas Lux lies in creating an aftertaste, which is like the coolness felt after water evaporates away. As we discover the tenderness with which he deals with human frailties, we realize that all this satire, wit and imagery is just there to make us stop and listen. As we scrape off the last words of a poem, we sense how subtly Lux commanded compassion, tolerance, morality and honesty to float into our hearts and minds. He propels us into his poems as if we were to watch the gladiators fight to death. After the initial thrill of watching the struggle is gone, we are left with an experience or an heartache, maybe sympathy for the loser, admiration for the skill of a fighter and maybe even disgust at the bloodshed, that seemed entertaining only moments back.

Let me take a step back here, and confess that my admiration for Thomas Lux is influenced by my endless regard for him as a teacher and a mentor. In Indian tradition, we believe that every seeker (of knowledge, truth or beauty) needs a Guru to guide his way. For countless students like me at Georgia Institute of Technology, Sarah Lawrence, Warren Wilson and numerous other places, Thomas Lux has provided that mixture of care, knowledge and guidance characteristic of a Guru. For this very reason, I always refer to him as Gurudev (Gurudev means teacher-God, and we refer to Tagore as Gurudev). In the opening poem of this collection, Gurudev Lux writes (the poem is dedicated to Peter Davidson): "The gentleman who spoke like music/ was kind to me/ though he did not have to be./ Who brought into the world a thousand books./ (Right there: a life well lived.)" The poem continues: "Who corrected my spelling, gently and/ my history too, who once/ or twice a year/ would buy me lunch/ and later let me leave his office/ with shopping bag of books to read." Our beloved Gurudev has nurtured poetry in seekers precisely like the gentleman in his poem, and this kindness and compassion form an essential backdrop to his writing. The language is simple, yet profound. The word weaving taught and presented in these poems makes them accessible to everyone, which has ever been the hallmark of the work by Thomas Lux.

When I first read poems by Thomas Lux (New and Selected Poems), I frowned at the mention of library of skulls, lake of snakes, shooting off a bird at close range and about sex in history. I was in fact perplexed by those weird, ‘un-poetic' references. I wasn’t too excited by reading poems that were lucid, tangible and written as free verse. But when I set the book down, I found myself meditating on the thoughts seeded by his poems, and re-opening pages to revisit the poems. The aspects of life that remain somewhat unspoken of in the ritualistic diet of abstract, obscure poems served to us these days, were surprisingly alive in his poems. Now I realize that his poems have a rhythm, a music that is felt when they are read aloud. Working class people, small town people, hunters, fathers, mothers, daughters and army soldiers all unfold their daily worries or joys into his poems. While the idioms are very American, they speak of emotions and aspirations of all human beings. I have found at least two dozen poems that translate really well into Hindi and resonate with Indian themes (e. g. A Little Tooth).

Typically a poem meanders through similes, metaphors, line breaks and syllables like a river that has a source, a terrain claimed by it, and the sink is the ocean of understanding expected from the reader. Most poets thrive on either an intellectualism or erudition associated with academic circles, or they thrive on a hobo lifestyle, where they extract potent lines from a mist or a fog of highly unconventional, unworldly life. Poems by either of these schools of thought are perhaps most apt for reading by their followers. Hence even though a common man, at times, is amazed, confused or startled by these verses, these contain emotions, examples and philosophies beyond his realm. The presence of occult, obscure, obscene, Oriental and/ or opiated ramblings does not always amount to original and good art. Great art can be extracted by reinventing or reinterpreting the obvious or the ordinary. To illustrate an idea simply, to present an emotion that resonates with feelings of a the non-literary, 'untrained' majority, to produce a sonnet or a song that is deep in meaning and yet contains everyday thoughts and objects, I believe, requires the greatest scholarship. Even though the poems of Lux revel in absurdity of the modern life, by a clever mix of humor and satire, through understatement and careful attention to craft, they leave the reader with a clearer idea and a sense of understanding and joy. For this one reason, he is a poet who will ever be read, and should be read.

The poems of Lux are often full of self-effacing humor. In a poem titled Invective, he says: "I pray your son wish to be a poet." He laughs at himself and at his community by writing: " Vatricide/ i.e. the murder (metaphorical) of poets,/ is not such a bad idea in some cases:/ the case of the poet who put fish poison in her poems/ the case of the poet who put his life,/ every part of it, over/ and over again, in his poems." His satire is telling in Autobiographophobia, where he conjures up an absurd biography for a poet. Judge the poem, and not the poet is somewhat unacceptable to the gossip-mongers that abound in public and in media. The dense poetry and prose that is celebrated by intelligentsia gets satirized in The General Law of Oblivion, where he says: "Though one cannot deny/ its genius, Mr. Proust's prose/ kills me, it loops me over and out." Poems of Lux have endless lessons from history, served to us as humorous anecdotes on one hand, and as parodies of whimsical present on the other. So in the same collection we found an account of a Greek poet (second only to Homer) as well as a poem about Jesus baby teeth on sale!

At times, his poems seem irreverent: like talking about Jesus baby teeth or "the Buddhists quick-change from bright orange/ to camo robes, pointing their howitzers eastward" or where he says "God's expository writing lacks lucidity/ and he or his scribes often write sloppily” Yet if you put these lines in perspective, read them in the context of the poem or the argument, these very lines display a respect for humanity and the divine, that wants to help us transcend our limited, orthodox or nonsecular thinking. In other words, if there is a flame or two here or there, it is to light or corner. I will leave you with the exemplary first three lines from the title poem, God Particles:

"God explodes, supernovas, and down upon the whole planet
a tender rain of him falls
on every cow, ladle, leaf, human, ax handle, swing set."

and at the end:

"...and He wanted each of us,
and all things we touch
and are touched by,
to have a tiny piece of Him,
though we are unqualified
for even the crumb of a crumb."