It was thought that the gods blew on creative people, who would then inhale the god's breath and have an idea. This is the premise of "inspiration": inhaling divine breath and ideas.

Monday, December 22, 2014

And I let go....

It seemed like the year's coldest night. Wrapped around in layers of thick clothing yet feeling the chill. My lips shivered. I wonder if it would ever feel the same again.
Smiling at myself I told my reflection that no two moments can be same. Just like how two fingerprints can never match. It leaves an impression in the sands of time.  
                                                             
Now I chuckled at my reflection ... how foolish of me to hold on to a dream. I opened both my palms and let go. From the centre of my palm rose smoke. And deep inside the chilly winds began to cease. A new found warmth spread across my body. Rising from my toes travelling upwards spreading to every inch.

I laughed at my reflection. Loud and clear. Till my mouth hurt and tears formed at corner of eyes...

 My reflection began to slowly disappear as mist formed on mirror. I still stood there but she was vanishing.  I tried to hold her one last time. The more I tried the faster she escaped. And I  wonder if my reflection sighed a relief. Hmm....

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

The hunter


               
I lay silently on the ground. Waiting for eternity. Every breath seemed heavy.    My soul so lost. How joyful to be lost! Not in the past not in the future. But simply to be lost in the vastness of time. Beyond the bonds of time. The wait seemed an eternity.

His footsteps stealthy.  Measured. The ground beneath his feet covered with mud and grass. His breath as silent as moon shine. His hair shone with a silver lining. Hands as strong as wind. His chest wide and bare. How sweet will be our embrace. Safe in his arms. Far away from world. How sweet will be our embrace.                    
                                                         
I stood nearby. But I know I have to hide. He likes to play... and I like to be chased. What he doesn't know is that I Am well aware of his every step... I know the rhythm of his breathing. I can smell his scent, a sweet mixture of sweat and meat.                  

                         
I stand still today. It's time to surrender. My legs seem rooted and my eyes fixed. Enough of chasing and being chased. I stand still for my sweet surrender. For I know I have won inspite of losing..        
                                                             

Monday, August 11, 2014

He slept like an angel. ...

He slept like an angel... eyes half open... half closed. Lips parted slightly.  Breathing slowly now. Breathing fast now. Peacefully. .. like a baby.   Wiping away life's trouble like sweat. He slept like an angel.

Butterflies kissed his ears... whispering songs of love. They danced around him with joy. Watching over him. He slept like an angel.

Branches of banyan tree grew towards him. Cradling him in their arms. Safe and sound. He slept like an angel.

Days rolled into nights and nights dragged into daytime. No sun no moon no stars no sky could wake him from long slumber.

Sleep my angel... till your pains get washed away. Till your tears get dried. Till there's joy in your heart again.  Sleep my angel.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

shadow.....

Slowly silently i watched her from corner of my eye. Is she the same girl i knew? Bubbly, joyous and chattery! Eyes radiating innocence. 
No this is not her. Wheres the joy of her eyes gone? The pulse of her life stolen. Beauty vanished. Do you think shes alive..... the soft fragrance of the girl i once knew is alas gone in this woman. 

God save her. God help her.... i will visit her often.
Next visit

Slowly silently i watch her from the corner of my eye

She's back my lass. Her beauty radiating through out. The fragrance of life shes found once more. Her eyes intoxicated, her lips so calm. Someone has touched her soul... awakening her sleeping soul. Shes happy once more...

It must be love. No it must be lust. No it must be something which is all above.

Slowly silently i watch her now... and walk away. She does'nt need me now. Shes found a soul who's touched her whole... she dances and sings and eats and sleeps. Shes found a soul whos all above.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

'Parva' by S.L.Bhyrappa

I still cannot recollect accurately what incidents had aroused my curiosity as I typed the words S.L.Bhyrappa in the google search months ago. It has been the most rewarding google search I have made since ages. A week after I landed in Bangalore I was lost in the pages of this magnanimous epic 'Parva' by S.L.Bhyappa.

Many of us have read the Mahabharata time and again. For some of us it's a holy book, for others it's a political guide and yet others its a divine revelation. But S.L.Bhyrappa has given a new insight and meaning to this great work of Maharishi Vyasa. My respect for the book and its author has risen far beyond words after going through the pages.

The book starts off unlike the original, from the events revolving around the war between the pandavas and kauravas. Throughout the book, the characters (not the heroes/demigods/demons) are depicted as ordinary humans but with extraordinary traits. The earlier chapters are monologues of Kunti, Draupadi, Bhima, Arjuna... and in the background of their monologues and conversations the tale unfolds itself like the petals of a flower. ದೇವಲೋಕ is a village in himalayas and not some elusive world in another corner of the universe. The inhabitants of this ದೇವಲೋಕ have a custom wherein a family of brothers wed a single woman. S.L.Bhyrappa says that they practice this custom even to this day. Draupadi's marriage to the five pandavas is derived from this custom. The practice of ನಿಯೋಗ has been touched delicately but on more than one occasion.

As a reader I too had pondered upon the questions which the author has forced into the minds of the characters...  Various human emotions like hatred, jealousy, greed, pride, lust have been beautifully crafted in this master piece. Many interesting parts have lingered in my mind after completing the book. The conversation between ಕರ್ಣ ಕುಂತಿ is worth mentioning. How ಕರ್ಣ is shaken by the news that he is ಕುಂತಿs son! His mind plays with a train of thoughts following this news... that he is actually the eldest of the 'pandavas' and is of royal blood. The bitter memories come back to him of his childhood and education where many a times he was mocked at and was denied by great teachers like ದ್ರೋಣ who taught only ಕ್ಷತ್ರಿಯಸ್.

Another character which made an immense impression in my mind was that of draupadi, beautifully painted with grace and dignity. She is the key to the unity of pandavas. The integrity between the brothers is maintained by Draupadi who has been instructed by Kunti that she should treat all of them equally. The various hardships she faces throughout leaves the reader emotional. Her patience and faith carries her across the hardous journey. By the end, she has more than a few bruises of the war. Losing her children shatters her heart. And the description of the farewell to her children is heart touching wherein only she sits by the dead bodies of her beloved children mourning their deaths. The fathers stand nearby only staring unemotionally.

The climax of Parva brought memories of Gabriel Garcia Marcquez's One hundred years in solitude. The rains pouring and drenching the victorious Pandavas, Arjuna losing his powerful bow in the rain. Krishna waiting and watching the rising floods... Kunti and Draupadi mourning the death of the Abhimanyu's still born baby. The end of a kingdom.... The success of Kurukshetra war lost and all that remains is Kunti's hope that Draupadi would somehow restore a successor to the throne. 

      

Sunday, July 1, 2012

The sum of all failures...


Carry On Tuesday # 162

Thanks to all of you who took up the challenge last week. I wondered what the response would be to  such a lengthy prompt but I needn't have worried! So, let's see what you make of this!


This week I've used as our prompt the title and ending of a poem by David Whalen
I listen to the silence .... as you do also




The stone bench suddenly seemed to get a life of its own. It began to poke my body and I felt as though i was sitting at an acupuncture session. I realized that the feeling is mutual... The stone bench seemed to scream at bearing the weight of this totally useless body. I turned my vision upwards towards the sky and closed my eyes. Hoping against hope that when I open my eyes again I would somehow be transformed to a different world at a different time. Much before... when I was young. When there was joy in my heart and love in my life.

I opened my eyes with a smile and looked at the sky for a sign... Dark clouds seemed to gather. As if an army was getting organized to fight me. Why this war? I have already been defeated a thousand times. Now there is no strength in my legs to run, no power in my arms to lift weapons and no will in my once brave heart to conquer the world. I am reduced to a tramp by life. At every step I have been reminded by nature of my mortal soul, helpless body and foolish mind. How you have mocked at me constantly throughout life! But I did succeed in one thing... You have taught me valuable lessons. I experienced humility in my defeats, I understood that an immortal soul is rocking our cradles and I realized that you dissolved my sins in acts of repentance.  

Now I may be homeless and one without a family. I may carry along with me a begging bowl for alms. But I am at the peak of the mountain and everyone reaches here alone...

   

Friday, May 25, 2012

A fascinating drifter...


This week's words:

Flesh; noun: The soft substance consisting of muscle and fat that is found between the skin and bones of an animal or a human; the pulpy substance of a fruit or vegetable, esp. the part that is eaten; the skin or surface of the human body with reference to its color, appearance, or sensual properties; verb: Put weight on; add more details to something that exists only in a draft or outline form.

Novice; noun: A person new to or inexperienced in a field or situation; a person who has entered a religious order and is under probation, before taking vows; an animal, especially a racehorse, that has not yet won a major prize or reached a level of performance to qualify for important events.

Sear; verb: Burn or scorch the surface of (something) with a sudden, intense heat; (of pain) be experienced as a sudden, burning sensation; brown (food) quickly at a high temperature so that it will retain its juices in subsequent cooking.

Traffic on that Monday morning seemed unbelievably heavy with packed school vans and cars honking. The mini-rickshaw drivers were the happiest of the lot. Passengers began to mount their rickshaws like hordes of rats mesmerized by the pied piper. Novice drivers were being harassed by for their driving skills by truck drivers and car drivers alike. A soft breeze flew in the opposite direction carrying with it the sweetness of summer dawn. I shifted my gaze since there was nothing interesting about the traffic. My eyes caught a tall lean figure squatting on the road, dressed in a somewhat odd manner. At that far a distance I could only make out her bright canvas like dress. I began to count the number of colors in her dress, the background was mainly orange. As the car moved closer towards her, the details began to become clear. Green leaves, red large flowers, pink little flowers and brown creepers. Her salwar seemed more like a artist's canvas. She wore a waist band, it seemed hand made royal blue and bright. Above that she wore a shirt, a collared one, worn out and seemed like a splatter of white on a red canvas. The artist must been having a bad day when he did this one! My morning was getting better by the minute... But by the time I could catch a glimpse of the lady's face who had fascinated me, the car sped away to catch up with the rest of the world.

I hoped to watch out for her on my way back home. The day went along smoothly and the tramp almost disappeared from my mind among the mundane activities of life. Strange it seemed, when I think of it now. How did those colors disappear into a sea of nothingness! And how ordinary a thing it had seemed back then that I forgot to watch out for her on my way back.

The next day from far off I could make out her striking figure and was hoping for a better view. Miraculously the car stopped right in front of her and I almost stared shamelessly. For the first time her towering height alarmed me and so did her disoriented expressions. The flesh of her body was in the right proportions, she wasn't too plump nor too lean.  It didn't seem to her that she lived on the streets. She held a cup of chai and looked around as if she owned the whole place. I was rather confused by her actions. I couldn't take my eyes off her and decided to make her the chief subject of my study for a while. The car raced off again but today she lingered a while in my thoughts. What surprised me was her pride? She wasn't running a marathon race like the rest of us. Instead she was enjoying her relaxed walk of life. There's nothing philosophical about it. I wouldn't call her a saint, but she was definitely human. I made it a habit to watch her everytime I passed that way. That was almost everyday. My 'subject' I noticed was homeless but not a beggar. She lived in a world of her own. She sometimes cooked by the fire she made by the side of the road. I have seen her sear food and the aroma filling up the place. When I began my inquiries about her, nearby neighbors and shopkeepers, told me the simple story of her life. She has been living near this highway since thirty years. She doesn't trouble anyone. She does not create a menace. So the locals began to provide her with lunch and dinner. They even believed that she proved a lucky charm to the whole locality. Shopkeepers would persuade her to step into their shops. But she seemed agitated at the strange intrusion. She constantly talked to herself, in what seemed like a foreign language. She very rarely spoke in the local language.
Watching her daily became a favorite passtime to me. She seemed to roam like a queen in her garden. A calmness resided within her. But I always wondered what drove her to live on the streets. Was she deceived in life by family? Was she a failed artist? Her personality always suggested to me that circus would have been an interesting profession. Her clothes also seemed to suggest the same. At times I also wondered if she was a warrior princess. Must have got weary with all the violence and war and decided to spend the rest of life peacefully.
The scorching sun in summer, blossoming flowers of spring and withering trees of winter all seemed to be her companions. Seasons changed, positions of the ruling planets changed, fates of people changed. My life changed. From being a student, then a wife and later a mother. The tramp always remained at the back of my mind. She was a great teacher of life. Someday I would definitely walk up to her and talk to her...
But this morning, I am happy enough to watch her through my glass.