Sunday, July 12, 2015

Healing Waters, Floating Lamps - A Review

I have not been writing reviews regularly for quite sometime now, but when a request to review a poetry collection came my way, I could just not say no! The fact that poetry is finding its foothold in the literary world was a pleasant fact to acknowledge. It is still sad, however, to note that among the hundreds of books I have received for review till date, Healing Waters, Floating Lamps is only the second poetry collection out of it! Sad, but I hope that changes soon.

At the outset, let me admit, I had to read this entire book thrice over to get closer to the meanings of some exquisite verses penned by Kiriti Sengupta in this wonderful collection. Even then, my comprehension was woefully inadequate to wade to the depth of each poem. Don Martin's Foreword came handy to pull me out of this conundrum. To understand certain works, the voice of an observer other than the poet/author is sometimes necessary - for he is able to think like a reader does, and hence provides certain inroads into the even very esoteric texts. In this case, Don Martin not only familiarised me to Kiriti Sengupta's literary aura, but also threw light on the way the poems held in Healing Waters Floating Lamps contained layers and layers of meaning.

Coming to the poems, they had a serenading beauty. The imagery concocted by the words was capable of transporting one to a Ganga Ghat, or to the sublime regions of one's consciousness. It is the latter where the poet probably was exhorting us to reach, and to do so, he gave us a very circuitous path to tread on. This path led from unravelling the poems, and then placing ourselves in its context to comprehend the message the poet is trying to spread across.

Apart of lyrical beauty, these poems are also imbued with spirituality - but the kind which everyone can adapt for themselves. Very short, but very profound in impact. Deep, very deep within you lies your God, and in the same regions resides the meaning of life. By encouraging an enquiry into nature and meaning of existence, I believe the poet was trying to egg us onto the higher realms of consciousness. I could be completely wrong here, because, as I did state, even after the third reading, many of these poems and their contexts seemed elusive to me.

This book will not make for a casual read, but will ask you to give it time and attention. If you are ready to lavish both of them on poetry, pick this up. I give it 3 stars on 5.


Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Love Each Other or Perish

Dear Morrie,

To whichever corner of heaven you are comfortably practising your wisdom in, I want to tell you that I am glad to have met you.

I know you must be sad by the way many of us are going about our lives, but I am also sure that you are okay to see us live on making mistakes and sometimes, just sometimes being strong enough to admit those to ourselves. It is essential for moving on, for evolution, for becoming better than the levels of collective misery and mediocrity that human kind debilitates to.



I don't write reviews like this, but since your student says that you promised to be a brilliant listener post your ascent to a world I don't comprehend, I thought I should thank you directly for being who you are. Even if my words of gratitude are a shout into the void, I don't care. The afterglow your book lends me despite being profoundly poignant is unmistakable.

Actually, I am wrong. Not profoundly poignant, but PROFOUND. And SIMPLE. These are the two words I can use to describe your life, your existence and your acquired wisdom. I am talking to you in first person because I have a confession to make. All that you put out in words in your Tuesday lectures, I know those things. I am not dying as of now, but I just know them. Like, I believe all humans do, but they fail to admit it to themselves as many times as they should.

I have been 'preaching' similar things out loud to a few close ones, and beliefs in the same made me take some harsh decisions, and I wanted to be sure if I was not turning out to be a really big person inside my head. After reading your transcribed words, I think I am fine, really. I think I understand where you came from, your humanism and your world view.

My only not so proud moment while going through a journey of your last days is that I would not have been able to care for you the way your student did. I would have lurked around, but not touched you. I am just trying to make my peace with this realization while being on your journey.

Mitch Albom with Morrie in 1995


So, I hope you are always alive and that you keep giving strength to many of us who are grappling with miseries and notions of life without having understood the simplicity of love and longing in its essence. I hope the world understands soon that the only way to detachment goes through experience. Intense experience.

Like you say, "Love each other, or perish". I'll hope not to perish. I'll hope to love.

Warm wishes,

Saumya

P.S. - Thanks Neha Thureja for gifting me this book. You are a fonder part of my life after this book. 

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

What The Stars Know And I Don't - Part II

The Chamber

Jasmine spread its shy aroma
On my bosom,
Lying like a snake
Coiling around my heaving chest
Strangulating my breath
As his faced appeared
Piercing the translucence
Of curtains
Preserving my dignity
To be shattered like glass
The moment he set foot in my chamber.

Like ambers,
My heart burnt.
He carried the promise of vermillion
A splash of red on my forehead,
Inked my life
Made me his wife
To love, honour, consume and destroy.

I stood trembling,
As his fingers traced the contours of my body.
I was titillated, in places I knew not existed
On the uneven topography of my body.
Is this how the Earth feels each day the Sun kisses it with golden rays?
Is this how a lone tree feels when under the influence of wild winds it sways?
Is this how tremors of joy erupt in on silent terrains?
Is this the experience which makes a woman turn vain?

Like Shakuntala basking in Dushyanta’s gaze,
Like Sita glowing through Rama’s face
Like Vasavadatta conjured in Udayan’s dream
I lay fulfilled in my lover’s embrace.

I looked outside the window, as the sky turned a shade darker, and stars turned a touch brighter. Tell me, o stars, can I continue this love-play till eternity?

Painting by George Astametakis


Part one of the post can be read here.

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Badi Pagal Si Ladki Hai

Prelude - For my birthday this year, I got many gifts, in gestures, in words, in books, in love - in many other manifestations, but the gift I am sharing with you all here is the most special among them. To have had these words read out to me was an experience nothing short of magical and extremely humbling. Gratitude fills me as I post this -

Badi paagal si ladki hai..
Ajab khwaabon mein rehti hai..

Bikhre baal rakhti hai…
Alag sa haal rakhti hai…

Alag ek dhun mein rehti hai…
Hamesha hasti rehti hai…

Kabhi khamosh ho jaye…
Yun toh kam hi hota hai…
Ke jab khamosh hoti hai…
Fiza pe rang nahi chadhta..
Bahaarein laut jaati hain…
Ghatayein ghir bhi jaayein gar…
Boondein dam nahi bharti…

Aur jab muskuraati hai…
Gul bhi muskuraate hain…
Mausam khil ke aate hain…

Ajeeb ik zid si hai pakde…
Ke Gul sehraa mein khilaane hain
Sab kaante mehkaane hain..
Roton ko hasaana hai, roothon ko manaana hai..
Gham duniya ke mitaane hain..

Kabhi koi jo gham, uska..
Gar humsaaya ho jaye…

Gham se ru-ba-ru hokar..
Milaa kar aankh har ranj se…
Yun muskuraayegi..
Ke gham muskura dega

Dard ki baahon mein daal kar baahein …
Yun gungunaayegi…
Ke dard bhi gungunaayega…

Koi bhi dharm duniya ka…
Isko soojhta kab hai…
Mohabbat pooja karti hai..
Mohabbat socha karti hai…

Kabhi poochho sabab iska..
Toh hans ke itna kehti hai…
Ke tum dekhna jaana…
..Ke tum dekhna jaana…
Ik roz duniya ko…
Mohabbat Main sikha dungi..
Ik roz duniya ko…
Main ishq bana dungi…

Badi Deewani ladki hai…

Ke bas khwaabon mein rehti hai…


Picture credits - Mayank Austen Soofi

Sunday, May 3, 2015

The Lore of Dungri-Garasiya Bhils

Marija Sres was a name I was not familiar with till about three days ago. Today, three days later, it is a name which has begun commanding decent amounts of respect from me. A religious sister, she came to work with the rural population of India and succeeded in impacting not just the spiritual and economic lifestyles of people by understanding their core problems; but also left an indelible mark on the literary landscape of Gujarat. The doyens of Gujarati literature have themselves acknowledged her genius and genuineness - she carried to the literary domains the legends of tribals and outcastes, about whom, even Gandhian activists shied away from writing. Literature, after all, was an elite, and puritanical domain. However, Marija Sres put in the effort of not only learning Gujarati, but also finding a subject of writing which won her the prime regional literary award.

At a discount fair organized by Zubaan, I came upon this really interesting title - "First Their Was A Woman, and other stories". Slightly subversive, or dreamily assertive - I could not decide. Centuries of religious instruction would have ingrained in us the secondary-ness of a woman's origin. God first created Man, isn't it? The lore of Dungri Garasiya Bhils would differ. The unique ring of this narrative does not end here. Not only did their existence begin with a woman - the procreation and continuation happened without the presence of man. In fact, in the legends, wherever a man is mentioned, he is shown to be deceptive, or silly, or incapable of taking valorous decisions, unless prodded by the female. Such powerful depiction, that even the simplistic manner of writing jolted me completely. 


The all encompassing entity in the tribal culture is Kudrat, who is said to have created Pruthvi first - a female entity. Upon Pruthvi, Kudrat placed a lot of elements to beautify it. The first human to find its way to Pruthvi was a woman, painstakingly created by Kudrat as a Murti out of earth, carved and shaped unto perfection. She was called Sati (root word - Sat - meaning truth). The intrigue in this myth does not end here. When Sati found herself alone, while there were more of other kinds of species, she had an urge to procreate - and this she did with the help of Sapsi - a serpent, and not by desiring a male partner. The Pruthvi, thus, was a woman's kingdom. 

Stories which form a part of tribal orature are not mere instruments of amusement. In them lie explanations for historical changes and sociological connections. In the story of Kava and Kavi, I understood how the naturally more vivacious and energetic female was slowed down using the treachery of beautiful garments and accessories, while she was caught unaware in the web of deceit concocted by male ego. The eternal nature of a woman's love was reinforced in the stories, and adequate light was also thrown on instances where a woman becomes a woman's worst enemy. This, as per my understanding, happens due to the rivalry that economic and social dependence on man bring about between females. 

Because the tribal culture of Dungri Bhils, like most others, was animist since its ancient beginnings, a lot of supernatural instances find their way into the stories. People are gifted with the power of understanding the tongue of animals, and the source of vitality for humans resides in natural elements too. I have a feeling that the hierarchical structure, if any, in these societies would be - Kudrat (Invisible entity), Nature (Visible power), Woman, Man, and rest of the creatures. In a story about crows, the Queen is shown to be assertive and cunning enough to guide her King towards a right decision. In the only story where a King is the Supreme, he is shown to be unreasonable and silly. Snakes and Cobras have been depicted as benevolent and protecting species. 

My favourite stories in the book are two - 
1. Bhaliya and Priya - a love story, which talks of oppression by the King, and then dark, covert revenge by the lovers. Love is the vital force which oppression cannot mess with for long. 
2. Alkhi and Dhulki - a story of sister love, which presents an alternate version to the beginnings of Sati. 

India is a land of such diverse and glorious folk-tales! The more one delves deeper, the more is he surprised with the kind of degeneration that has affected our morality and belief systems. Harking back to animist and tribal traditions is always enriching and endearing in a shocking sort of way. And sometimes, it needs the eye of an outsider to locate stories in a patch of ourselves we forget to acknowledge and appreciate. 

Marija Sres' book is an easy 4 on 5 stars. Thanks to Zubaan for bringing forward this wonderful book to an urban audience.