From Unpublished Novel!

It was a soft pain, a pain that lingers through the several thousand miles that separated them now. A pain that lived across the distance, that survived the vagaries of time. He kept it cuddled close to him, like a soft toy hugged it through the endless , lonely nights. That was a part of him that none of his new friends knew. They treated him as someone who could enjoy life to the fullest, except that he had no girlfriend, and he never showed the inclination to have any!

He walked through the streets at night. The empty streets consoled him, understood him. The rustle of fallen leaves created the melodies that could soothe him. He must forget the past, he knew that, and yet past followed him like a shadow. It accompanied in every bright moment of his life. He was so used to thinking about her, that his momentary lapses into joy made him feel guilty, so much so, that these mistakenly enjoyed moments of joy were compensated by an elaborate ceremony of sadness.

Things changed when this sparkling stream of laughter splashed his face with her radiance. Her wit bewitched him, released him and eventually restrained him. The stream was a welcome breeze of promise of the future. A future that by being so, was going to grab him from the clasp of past and release him into promise of hope and possibility.

Faded Sarees!

Intro: Return of experimental poetry. Different colors, different people. Wrote most of these while attending a lecture on Quantum Mechanics, and you will see how deeply the subject affects me!

************

Faded Green Saree

She is a faded green saree now
Washed out by the torrents she left
In her wake, as she walked away
As she walked away through the
Muddy fields of my heart sown with
Seeds of my silent passion for her!

She is a faded green saree now
In patches she smells of past
The stains have rubbed her of
A glory I happily conjured for her
Her glow, her sheen is faintly visible
Ah! Still visible in my memories of past!!

*************

Faded Red Saree

She is a faded red saree now
Consumed by the pest of past memories
She exists in the odour of moth balls
Her life is a listless wait in the dark
As newer hues have rendered her colourless
To those very eyes that once admired her!

She is a faded red saree now
Stranded in the nooks of neglect
She reeks of the mildew of sorrow
That fill her pores, for there isn't
A gush of wind to naughtily disturb
Her noted knack for a sauve silence!

**********

Faded yellow saree

She is a faded yellow saree now
Stripped off in the savagery of moments
Moments of hatred and rage and duncanry
That swept the streets in the name of Gods
And tore apart the fabric, exposing
The hidden fears, the blackness of soul!

She is a faded yellow saree now
Dishonoured rode of a dismal time
Carrying the blotches of blood and fury
And silted with tears and ugliness
The soft tissues devored by beastliness
Lying in pieces the victim of crime!

**************
Faded blue saree

She is a faded blue saree now
Crumpled and wrinkled, soft and supple
A gossamer separating living and etheral
She smells of years of loving sweat
That cradled and carried newborns
To lose her youth in the nights of labor!

She is a faded blue saree now
Still smells of Dettol and baby oil
That rubbed and scrubbed and earned
Her distinction of being the foster ma
The foster ma of a generation of joys, but now
Waiting for nirvana, for a recycled rebirth!

*********
Faded pink saree

She is a faded pink saree now
Ah! She was the rose petal that
Fluttered in the thousand sighs
And bathed in the dew of delights
Shimmered in the morning of her prime
Now lies withered at dusk of existence!

She is a faded pink saree now
Was once perfumed of pheromones
And settled in the mind of every eye
Was once a lotus in blossom
Glorious in youth, in splendor
Now lies wilted, withered, forgotten!

**********

(The classes thankfully last for a finite time)!

Pink Flyod in Hindi: Wish you were here!

Wish You Were Here Lyrics

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.


Translation:

Achcha tumhein lagta hai tum bata sakte ho
swarg ko narak se?
neela aakaash ko dard se?
kya tum bata sakte ho harey khet ko thandi salakhon se?
ek muskaan ko ghoonghat ki oat se?

kya tumhein lagta hai tum bata sakte ho?
Ya unhohne tumhein bech diye hai
tumhare yodhaon ke badale pret?
garam dhool, vrishakon ke badale?
garam hawa, thandey jhokon ke badale?
susth aaraam, parivaratan ki jagah?
aur kya tumne yudh mein chalnay ke badale le li hai pinjarey ki baadshahat?

Oh! tum yahan hotay, haan kitna chahataa hun ki tum yahan hotay!
Hum matr(a) doe bhatakti aataamein hai,
tair-ti aai hai machchali ki maratbaan mein
saal dal saaal
ussi puraani zameen par daudti firti
aur humne kyaa paaya hai
wahi puraaney khauff
kaash tum yahan hotay!

Mann re (Lost in translation)!

One of my perennial favorites:
Lyrics by Sahir... Movie Chitralekha

followed by a lousy translation (done by me)!


Man Re Tuu Kaahe Naa Dhiir Dhare
Vo Nirmohii Moh Naa Jaane, Jinakaa Moh Kare
Man Re ...

Is Jiivan Kii Cha.Dhatii Dhalatii
Dhuup Ko Kisane Baa.Ndhaa
Ra.Ng Pe Kisane Pahare Daale
Rup Ko Kisane Baa.Ndhaa
Kaahe Ye Jatan Kare
Man Re ...

Utanaa Hii Upakaar Samajh Koi
Jitanaa Saath Nibhaa De
Janama Maran Kaa Mel Hai Sapanaa
Ye Sapanaa Bisaraa De
Koi Na Sa.Ng Mare
Man Re ...

****

O mind! Why aren't you patient
They heartless know no love, who you love so
Oh mind!....

This life's rising ebbing
Sunshine who could rein in
Who placed bars on hues
Beauty who could rein in
Why you endevour so
Oh mind....

Be gratified of as much as
Someone stands by thee
Union unto life and death's a dream
Set this dream free
No one dies with you
Oh mind!....

Soft Suds of Joy!

There were soft suds of joy about me
Bubbles that shimmered with the twinkle of
Your laughter that danced all around me
In the rainbow colors of dreams they showed me
You dazzled in the fiery passion of my eyes
Into realms of tranquility my desired towed me!

There were soft suds of joy about me
Bubbles that burst with the whispers of
Your silence that pinched all around me
In the transient moments of life they showed me
Beauty lies in instants, joy forms and fades
Into trance of oneness my desired followed me!

Vivek Sharma
Aug 31, 2005

Da Vinci code : Much Ado about nothing!

"So did you finally read Da Vinci Code? What do you think of it?"

It is an overpriced, oversold, overhyped novel that reads like a cheap thriller! A murder mystery, spiced with lots of controversial stuff from Christian history and myths.

"Come on, don't tell me you thought it was that bad. Everyone who has read it is going gaga about it. There are talk shows on TV about it, it is the top bestseller, so much so that people have devored all books by the author, and they are even making a movie out of it. I know many people who call it brilliant."

Oh! Great! Who are those people? Have they ever read any good book ever. What is a good book you may ask? A book that engages your heart and mind, thoughts and imagination, challenges your beliefs by fueling ideas that seem rational and logical, or atleast sheds some light on the traits or lives of its characters, through which we can see ourselves and our world in a different perspective. A good book is like a window, an expedition where you enjoy the journey as much as the feeling of reaching the destination.

Da Vinci code is a grand collection of Christian myths, written in a style of a treasure hunt. A murder in the very beginning sets the motion going, with a Havard professor and the granddaughter of the murderer working their ways through clues leading to further clues. The clues are contained in churches, in da Vinci paintings and what not. What author does really well is directing this treasure hunt through rusty and dusty corridoors of heresey, spicing it up by mention of holy grail, secret societies, Mrs Jesus Christ, Newton, and so on.

The descriptions are quite poor as is the narrative. The flaws are as many as a 454 page novel can include. I guess the only reason why everyone is reading it is because everyone else has read it. The reading itself requires no effort, so once you start you can read it to the end. From close quarters I know, all my friends who failed to finish every decent book they picked up, finished this one with ease. Other books they tried required thinking and concentration, this one can be read on a cruise control mode.

"Aha! Vivek! I smell a hint of ego there. You think that since you read all sorts of classics that makes your opinion better than others? If the book is not great, why is everyone saying so? Why can't you just read a book just for the enjoyment of it? What is wrong with a book being entertaining or controversial?"

What you think are vestiges of my ego is what I call a pre-requisite for condemning or praising something. I don't think that opinion of people who hardly read anything should be used to define this novel as brilliant. Atleast give the other authors a reading, a hearing before drubbing this one as the best or the greatest or whatever.

Don't you see it, how hype and controversy can be roped into a movie or a book to rake maximum profits. You asked me if I enjoyed the book. Well, what really amused me was the really disappointing standards people set for themselves and for pronouncing something as good. I was expecting till the very end that the author will brandish his talents somewhere, somehow.

The book is entertaining and controversial, but please don't call it brilliant or a work of genius or a marvel of human imagination. It is these superlatives thrown around Dan Brown and his Da Vinci Code that bewilder me. I am sorry if this the best you have got than I must tell you that henceforth I will place no trust in your judgement.

(At this instant he smiles and keeping his hand on hers, says) But you haven't read it yet, have you? Judge it for yourself:)!

Back from Holland/ India: III

People II: An American, a Romanian and a Bangladeshi!!

I travelled through three continents, and this blog is about three females who crossed my way during my stay in Holland, and to some extend they represent the status of the woman in their respective continents/countries. Unless they read this blog and shout at the top of their voice that its them that I am qouting or misqouting (for a male memory stores conversations only in shorthand; the female records it on tape and keeps several copies in hidden corners of heart for future reference), unless they come forward, we can safely treat them as unknowns (similarity to people living or dead is coincidental, and no harm is meant to anyone anyway)! That being said, lets get on with some trans-continental talk!

*************
American Woman (Let Lenny Kravitz play in the background)!

She was on a high, her puffs were loud and deep, the dope from her ciggarette permeated into the being of everyone around her, and everyone sat as if swooned by the swing of her words that she transmitted through clouds of smoke around her. Her eyes were radiant with naughty laughter, and she sat surrounded by half a dozen youngsters. Her hair fell in a careless cascade over a white face, a face that had flown across the continent to this haven of soft drugs. She said she made this annual pilgrimage for it soothened and strengthened her mental and emotional health. She must have been in mid-forties, was a veteran of divorces and broken relationships. Her jokes and teasing brought color to the cheeks of one and all; no subject was taboo, her advice raced from telling guys to tour the red light district to telling the girls to make most of their youth, though with the use of rubber as well to talking about her boyfriends from her glory days. (I sat at a distance, checking email, and overheard similar conversations whenever I returned to that site everynight). I saw that behind her loud laughter, the glitter of her dopey eyes, the clouds of smoking talk was a woman who was bitter, alone, sad.

******************
The Romanian (For some reason, find Billy Joel's She'll always be a woman to me!)

I got out of the train. I had scribbled bus #7 on a piece of paper, and noted the name of station it would take me. Four days in Amsterdam had taught me the pleasure of seeing city on foot, and I was wondering if I could drag my baggage for whatever distance I needed to cover. A beautiful face caught my eye, there was an obvious smile on her face, her features were distinctly European, height about 5' 5", and by all means she was an attractive lady. This and past follies told me that she was smiling at someone else, which turned out to be unexpectedly false. "Here she comes, and I have no idea who she is. Maybe I remember her from another birth, but I don't think I can forget a beauty from this life" "Are you here for a summer school too", she asked in her heavy East European accent. I was stumped, smashed, hit in the belly, struck by lightning..... for not only she was pretty she spoke in an accent that totally tingles every hair on my body.

"I am here for Soft Matter conference." "Oh! God knows what that is.. I am here for an art school, " she spurted, and I noticed her hand stretched out, "Sarah." "I am Vivek." "Are you an Indian? Oh! I totally totally love India. Its such a crazy place." I thought to myself, this is interesting beginning and asked aloud if she had travelled to India. She had already found a bench and as she chatted with a breathtaking speed, in that wonderful accent, with words flowing out of her mouth laden with the morning smell of unbrushed teeth, she bade me to sit down as well, and I was feeling quite stupified and amused and entertained while she continued in a monologue in a voice that pitched and peaked and swelled and sounded like a river stream in wilderness. In spite of everything, I was paying attention (or so I imagine now). OK! There were all these words hovering around me, almost like butterflies and they seemed to have emerged from the person sitting next to me!

(Read like Russians speak English, and read it at a good speed and read it as if the beautiful girl is talking to you;) "I went to India last year. It was all crazy will all the bright colors of what you call them, duppatta and suits, though dunno why you use english word suit for such a traditional wear. Oh! The orange, the reds, the blues. I loved that long piece called sareee that my friend bought for me at Banaresh. Banaresh was so cool, though you know what there was this guide who was totally smitten by me and would come banging at my door at night, all drunk and called me his sweetheart or something and I had to just bolt my door from inside and he really scared the shit out of me. In morning he would say sorry and present thousand entreaties, but I tell you now I laugh about it, but that night I was more scared than I have ever been in my life. Then I was in Pune where there used to be pimps who would offer us a choice between quite well dressed guys who would hang about us and it was so totally fun. My friend, a curious one she is, was all giggles as the pimp outlined the cost price of each one. And later he asked us if we did not want to spend money, he could arrange for us to earn some. You don't seem to believe me Vivek, but that is how things were and it was so insane (giggles). All the rickshaw people are such cheats, they would ask me 200 ruppees for what otherwise costs just 10 ruppees. I later learnt to bargain, and bargain hard, but in initial few days people everywhere wanted to rip off every penny they could. Oh! Your country is so so spiritual, and I became friends with this Lama. The lama had really nice muscles I believe from doing Yoga and I teased him what use his muscles be. I dunno how they live all their life without marrying or fucking for that matter. Its such a waste, but he taught me how to meditate. Do you know how to, for it really relaxes ones mind!"

"Oh! I did not spend much on anything except on the motorbikes that I took for hire and the gas I used. I would find people like you, nice people and ask them if I could stay with them. Your country is so secretive about sex and all, that I knew there could be no risk and it would be really nice home cooked meal and I travelled all around Madhya Pradesh, Sanchi Stupa and Ellora caves and went to that extremely sensual temple at Khajurao. There it is evident that you are really in the land of Kamasutra, all those statues intertwined in most complex of ways. Calcutta was just swarms and swarms of people. I was though unable to go to Rishikesh, but I did go to Kashmir and you believe it or not I attended a Muslim wedding and that girl was so happy even though she had never met that woman. Do Hindu-Hindi also have arranged marriage."

I went through the ritual of explaining how arranged marriaged worked well in our society and if I had no one to be really crazy about, arranged marriage was an arrangement that could provide me with a nice lifepartner, etc etc. She ventured to ask me if I would be willing to marry a non-Indian and I stopped short of asking "iraade kya hai" (what are your intentions?)

"Hey! Guess what my birthday is next week. Why don't we plan and celebrate it together? It will be so much fun." What date? "Sixteenth". Oh I will be gone by then. "I have to take bus #8, and I better get going," she said, "here is my email and do write to me and lets meet in coming few days when you are here, and maybe we can eat, drink and party."

Well, she missed two #8 after that, we talked or rather she talked on and on about India, Romania, love, intercontinental travel, lamas, spirituality, Indian food, marriages, temples and how she planned on going to another trip to India. Of course, now she had another place to stay there. (My parents would be scandalized if she appeared at home and talked like she did here. Maybe they will ask her to try "daatun" on her teeth). Eventually, like all good things and beautiful women, she parted, said a goodbye, and I guess (sigh!!) that is the end of this story!

**********************
The Bangladeshi

Finally I arrive at the conference site. This was my first day in the city, and I had walked over three miles to this site, using map, my feet, and directions provided by the Dutch people. Few minutes later, she arrived, dragging a huge suitcase and carrying a heavy bag that made her lean to a side. She arrived in a saree, wrapped on her head, and she was also wearing a sweater. After having spend nearly a week in Amsterdam, she seemed to be grossly overdressed to me. At this instant she was struggling to drag her suitcase. Reading a book on chivalry, that too Don Quixote means that you have to help a damsel in distress (well, I guess I would have helped otherwise too, but thinking about knights lends it extra glamour).

"Are you from India?" The questions irks me when it comes from someone I believe can tell from my face that I am from India. Still, I said yes, (though I really wanted to say Mongolia) and figured that her bags were heavier than my wildest imagination could have told me. It turned out that she was to be my next door neighbour, and I somehow managed to drag her bags to her room. This reminded me of my friend, who often says that unless I start going to gym with him, I will turn out to be a useless husband! Meanwhile I learnt that she was from Bangladesh, a graduate student like myself (though she was mother of two and employed as an Assistant Professor), had left her country only second time, it was her first time in Europe, she had travelled from the airport in an overpriced taxi and that whether I liked it or not, I was going to have company.

"Hey Vivek! You don't seem to understand. The reception is in the city center. It took me fifteen minutes to get here in the taxi from there. Lets find a bus, why must you insist on walking?"

Well, I walked from the city center to this dorm, and that was right after I came into the city. So I know its doable, more so as now the baggage in not there. I really believe that you cannot know a city unless you tred through its streets and bazaars. Why don't you take the bus?

"I don't know how?"

Its like taking any local bus in say Bangladesh.

"I have never set my foot in a local bus. And I come from a family where we never walk any distance."

I was getting irked. She refused to walk, and she had never travelled in the bus. A rich man's wife and a rich man's daughter she must have been, and for all I cared I could have left her right there. What was particularly annoying as well was that while she had all her registration dues waived (as she was coming from third world country), she was carrying cell phone, making international calls, and even here in foreign country she wanted a stranger to arrange for the luxuries she was used to. I remained adamant, and well, she walked (asking me to promise that we would travel in bus on our way back). I found a British guy who wanted to walk as well, and we both had to slow down considerably to let her catch up with us. A theorist is always fun to talk to, and as we ambled on, I listened to what he was working on, and felt the thrill of being back in the scientific world. She looked miserable, for walking pained her as much as his accent and talk about theoretical stuff. (At the end of the day, we did take a bus, and that too after a nice dinner in a desi restaurant that my particularly large nose helped us to find!)

We saw each other a lot in coming few days, for reluctantly or otherwise I was the only help she could find around the place. For me talking to people is no problem (if you haven't noticed by now, you better see me soon). A part of me sympathized with her, for she was so far away from a place where she had everything provided for. A part of me was irked to the limit for she seemed to quite inflexible in her demands and choices. Coming from a middle class family in India, I have been taught to be flexible, to bear stuff with smile, to bear hardship with the same joy as one takes joy in success. Anyways, the last day of our trip came and she had already asked me several times if I could help her shop for her kids and kins. So I decided to show her the city of Amsterdam and help her with buying the gifts.

The bags had become no lighter, and she finally got it that travelling for a week does not require half a quintal worth of stuff. (Though I do thank her for carrying sugar, cream and tea-bags, for life without tea is not worth living)! Visiting the souvenier shops in Amsterdam makes it pretty clear that you are in the sex capital of Europe. The dolls, toys, T-shirts, pendents, postcards, key chains, wall hangings, are all tokens, reminders of the city known for prostitutes, sex, right light district, dope laws and liberal eroticism. Here I was with a person coming from a country of purdah, the land of fanatic censorship, the religion of absolute covertness. But thankfully Amsterdam also has souveniers that remind us that its the city of canals, of Anne Frank, Van Gogh and Rembrandt (though these three were as unknown to her as my the description of my PhD research), and that its the land of windmills, crafted and painted wooden shoes, pottery and the Dutch cows (that have black patches on white bodies, as if the creator had dropped ink on them, and the ink got smudged)! She wasn't impressed with Amsterdam "The buldings are so old, not only old, but old-fashioned. People have no style or sense of clothing. (I wondered hmmm she saw no street in the red light district and still!!). The shops are full of bad stuff. There are too many cyclists as if no one owns cars here. I see no beauty in these canals or having houses near canals. These bazaars are narrower than the new ones in Dacca. I know these women have too much freedom, so much that they care more for their false beauty than for kids. Everywhere you go you see people behaving like gluttons, eating and drinking with relish. Drinking wine in bright daylight!! (But sun sets at 11 pm, I thought)! Neither the architecture nor the people impressed me at all."

Maybe my grandmother would agree with her. She had irked me the most at times, I guess more because she had an attitude, a way of thinking that I know exists in my home country as well, and that there was no escape from that. She was in more ways than one, like most desi women are in their thirties. After bidding goodbye to her, and receiving her numerous thanks and a box of chocolates, I sat down first to ridicule her, but soon I was admonishing myself. The woman I had for many days criticized and looked down upon as intrasient, rooted in ageless religious and communal bigotry, incapable of taking care of herself and ignorant of the existence of the artists and scientists I most valued, the woman I have perhaps talked about in the same tone was my initial thoughts about her were..... that very woman turned out to be perfect as a devout Muslim, a doting mother, a devoted wife and a prized daughter. The American had smoke and humor, but it veiled her bitterness and sorrow, the Romanian had romance and risk, though her thoughts proved that she was quite shallow but it was the Bangladeshi who turned out to be happier and at peace with herself and her life. I guess I have a lot to learn, and become more tolerant and less critical from next time.

PS: Next blog travels to India. Many people I met can sleep easy, for they will not make an appearance in my writings soon!