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.