A Sun Day

Some days
Are like desserts.

Sun Days.

A sweetness
To go with fullness.

A break
In the battle.

When I travel in time
Back thousands of years
To see Rama
Stand despondent
In the battlefield
Having felled all
But the ten headed one,
The wizard,
From whose bow
Flew magic shafts
Alligators, tigers,
Vultures, jackals,
Five headed serpents,
Mouth agape…

Like the Indra-Vrittra war,
The Rama-Ravana Yuddha…

The benchmark battle
For all time to come…

**

And deep in that battle, there comes the turning point, the ‘Aditya Hrudayam’, the Hymn to the Sun…A free translation of its first few verses, I attempt below.

Aditya Hrudayam - 1

Then
Having come to see the battle,
Agastya, the Bhagavan-Rshi,
Accompanied by celestials
Saw Ravana in the foreground
And Rama
Standing forlorn in the battlefield
Fatigued by fight;

Going then,
To Rama
(Agastya) said to him:

“O Rama, Rama,
Of mighty arm!
Listen
To this eternal secret,
By which,
My child,
You will overcome
All your enemies!

(This hymn)
Aditya-hrudayam,
(The Heart of the Sun),
Pure and holy,
The destroyer of all foes,
Giver of victory,
Undecaying
Supreme
Auspiciousness
Should indeed
Be chanted every day!

Among all that is auspicious,
It is most auspicious;
Decimates all sins,
Cures anxiety and anguish,
Increases longevity
And is the most excellent (mantra)!

Offer worship
To the Sun
The giver of light,
The Lord of the Worlds,
To the resplendence
That rises
With bright rays
And is venerated alike
By Devas and Asuras!

…To be continued…some other dessert time…

Timesheet Today

Some days
are like deserts.

Dunes.

There is not
even a decent cactus
to chew.

Whole day
You sculpt dry sand
and end of day
You sign-off on dirt.

Mans got to make
a living.

A song for Sivaratri

Oh the wonder
That you made
A molehill
Me
Out of a mountain
You
O Arunachala!

Oh the wonder
That you made
A moth
Me
Out of the fire
You
O Arunachala!

Oh the wonder
That you made
Amnesic
Me
Out of Knowledge
You
O Arunachala!

Today,
On this dark night
Of yours,
Pray,
Undo all this,
Unmake me,
Break the mirrors,
Do some real magic
O Arunachala!

Living on…

This time around
When death snatched
A person
Oh so close to my heart
I did not lose cheer
And even sang
A lot of old melodies
As I drove back
After consigning
A portion of his ashes
In the holy waters
Where three rivers meet.

The songs
They just kept coming.

He loves music.

A song of light

Today, back home from a long day at work, I found myself humming an old Rafi song…prompted my daughter who was with her computer in the other room to come around and say - ‘hey, thats a lovely tune Pa!’…A song penned so beautifully by Majrooh Sultanpuri and set to such a haunting melody by Hrittik Roshan’s baap ka baap….

Heres a youtube link to the song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ik6cd0VBKI8&feature=related 

Heres the lyrics of the song, and a rough translation that I have attempted that can be hummed to the same tune….

Have a sip…

**

Ab Kya Misaal Doon Maein Tumhare Shabaab Ki
Insaan Ban Gayee Hai Kiran Mahtaab Ki

Oh what simile can I come up with for this loveliness thats yours
A ray of moonlight has turned around and become a woman of such allure

Chehre Mein Ghul Gaya Hai Haseen Chandni Ka Noor
Aankhon Mein Hai Chaman Ki Jawan Raat Ka Suroor
Gardan Hai Ek Jhuki Hui Daali Gulab Ki
Ab Kya Misaal Doon…

In your visage has mixed and melted the effulgence of moonlight
In your eyes is the exhuberence of a fresh blossom of the night
Your neck is like a bent stem
Stem, of a lovely rose…
O what simile…

Gesu Khule To Shaam Ke Dil Se Dhuan Uthe
Chhule Kadam To Jhukke Na Phir Aasman Uthe
Sau Baar Jhilmilaye Shama Aaftab Ki
Ab Kya Misaal Doon…

Darkness of dusk smokes with envy when your tresses you unfurl
When the sky stoops and kisses your feet, it rises not, my girl!
You of the light of hundreds,
yea hundreds of Sun’s glows…
O what simile…

Unearthing a poem

My grandfather, Dr K Vaidyanathan, passed away more than four decades ago. He had some stepsiblings, who went their own ways, and I have met them rarely, and some, not at all. Recently, I came to know that my grandfather’s youngest step-brother resides in my city, but in a far suburb. I phoned him up, introduced myself from forgotten pages of his mind. And today, I went across to meet him. He is now in his eighties, and bears a remarkable resemblance to my grandather. It felt very special to meet him - almost a feeling of transcending time itself, if you will. It was the stuff of poetry.

As memories of my grandfather enrich my mind, I give below, one of his poems, published in his book ‘Dawn and other poems’, in 1934.

A POET’S FEAST

A Poet’s no dreamer of mundane mould
His heart’s ever young., his head ever old,
He sees and hears his own voice and face
In the objects he beholds; so learn ye to trace
His heart-and-mind communion with th’ great Beyond
Express’d in Creation whose symbols here and yong,
Big with divine content, let go the sparks
That shine eternally by God’s Finger-marks -
He speaks through all, hears through all, sees through all,
His is the world, and judge ye not his noble call.
Grant him his place, and let him breathe and live
For his is the feast, tho’ ye the hosts that give.

Janmashtami

Stainless Steal

Today
Is the day of birth
of the brilliant blue
of Brindavana

The stealer of butter
and hearts…

Born at midnight
He steals sleep;

Beware,beware, thrice beware
For this thief
Will leave you with nothing,
This prison-born
Takes no prisoners…

Dont even glance at him.

He will steal your very life
with his smile.

From over seventy years ago…

My grandfather, Dr K Vaidyanathan, was a teacher by profession, and a poet at heart. He used to be very devoted to Mundagakkanni Amman, and so was very much in my thoughts these last few days. I was leafing through some of his poetry and reliving his thoughts. Here is one, from his book, ‘Smiles and Tears’, published in 1936.

A Reverie

When a riotous wind about me play’d
When reason fled and rhyme delay’d,
Ere Muse form forth her bower came,
To join free my hearty game,
Ere passion stirr’d my sleeping thoughts
And songs awoke in each other’s hearts
When lip to lip the whisper sped
Of the joy of moon’s peeping head
My pen began a worthless ditty,
O, what shall I say - ’tis a pity!

**

He would have sure loved the Web 2.0 world!

Swatantrata Divas - Sarvajit year…

Its that date again. August 15th. India’s independence day. Sixtieth anniversery.

Shashti-abda-poorthi…

The year of name Sarvajit. The same year that India won independence, as per the Indian sixty-year calendar cycle.

And on this occasion, I attempt a free translation of that great patriotic song sung by Lata Mangeshkar…The one that brought tears to Pandit Nehru’s eyes…

 ai mere vatan ke logo.n
 tum khuub lagaa lo naaraa
 ye shubh din hai ham sab kaa
 laharaa lo tira.ngaa pyaaraa
 par mat bhuulo siimaa par
 viiro.n ne hai praaN ga.Nvaae
 kuchh yaad unhe.n bhii kar lo (2)
 jo lauT ke ghar naa aaye (2)

Oh people of my motherland
Proclaim aloud your slogans grand
Unfurl the beloved of colors three
For this day for us is (indeed) holy!

But forget not the border strife
Where many a hero has lost his life
Do spend a moment, remembering them too
Who came not home after fighting for me and you

 ai mere vatan ke logo.n
 zaraa aa.Nkh me.n bhar lo paanii
 jo shahiid hue hai.n unakii
 zaraa yaad karo qurabaanii

Oh people of my motherland
Let your eyes have a tryst with your tear gland
Remember the sacrifice, oh so great
Of all the martyrs of our nation state.

 jab ghaayal huaa himaalay
 khatare me.n pa.Dii aazaadii
 jab tak thii saa.Ns la.De vo
 phir apanii laash bichhaa dii
 sa.ngiin pe dhar kar maathaa
 so gaye amar balidaanii 

When Himalayas was attacked and hurt
When our freedom was under red alert,
These soldiers fought till their very last breath
And then laid their bodies into the arms of death
With their heads resting on bayonet edge
They sleep forever having kept the highest pledge.

 jab desh me.n thii dIvaalii
 vo khel rahe the holI
 jab ham baiThe the gharo.n me.n
 vo jhel rahe the golii
 kyaa log the vo dIvaane
 kyaa log the vo abhimaanii

When the nation was enjoying Diwali
They were spraying red, playing Holi,
When we were at home, comfy and safe
They faced bullets and aerial strafe
What madness was it they had
With what pride indeed were they clad?

 koii sikh koI jaaT maraaThaa
 koii gurakhaa koI madaraasii
 sarahad pe maranevaalaa
 har viir thaa bhaaratavaasii
 jo khuun giraa parvat par
 vo khuun thaa hi.ndustaanii

Maybe a sikh, a jaat, a maraathaa
A Gurkhaa, or a Tamizh Veeraa
He who fell a prey to the enemy’s gun
Each was a hero, Indian, each one,
That blood that was spilled on the mountain
That blood was ours, ‘twas Indian.

 thii khuun se lath-path kaayaa
 phir bhii banduuk uThaake
 das-das ko ek ne maaraa
 phir gir gaye hosh ga.Nvaa ke
 jab ant\-samay aayaa to
 kah gaye ke ab marate hai.n
 khush rahanaa desh ke pyaaro.n
 ab ham to safar karate hai.n
 the dhanya javaan vo aapane
 thii dhanya vo unakii javaanii 

Even when injured, with a blood bathed body,
He lifted his weapon, fired volley after volley,
Each soldier killed ten-ten of enemy
Then fell, having done the highest duty;

And when the final moment was nigh,
He said, “Time has come for me to die,
Live happily, O loved ones of my land,
I need to go now, to a higher command!”

Oh, blessed were those soldiers of our country,
Blessed their life, their great gallantry…

 jay hind, jay hind kii senaa (2)
 jay hind, jay hind, jay hind 

*****

This is Sarvajit year. Sarvajit means “all conquering”. Jai Hind!

Songs of silence

Theirs is a different clock,
Whose morning alarm
Rings late afternoon
or later still.

Awake, alert,
When much of the world sleeps.
They retire,
When the first birds rise and sing.

They switch off the rising Sun
Before the attack of dawn,
And pulling off a patch of nightsky,
They wrap it around as a nightgown
And curl into the folds of the land of nod.

It is not that they hate the day,
(thats a different topic, any way)
It is just
That they love the night.

It is in night’s mirror
That they see themselves best.

It is the night air
That they like to breathe
Like to touch.

It is the night’s stillness
That  comes to them
As Cinderella’s shoes.

And yes…

It is in the aloneness of the night
In the hush of their hearts
They hear their lover’s call…