Life of Life

Neither the eye goes there,

nor speech,

nor mind.

Neither do we know that,

nor do we know how to teach one about it.

What speech can not reveal,

but that which reveals speech;

What one cannot feel with the mind,

but because of which the mind feels;

What cannot be seen by the eye,

but by which the eyes are able to see;

What cannot be heard by the ear,

but by which the ears are able to hear;

That which one breathes not with his breath,

but by which breath is breathed;

Know that to be brahman and not this,

which people do worship here.

- Kenopanishad, Sāmveda

The Picture Hunter

Princes with their beards,

tucked into turbans.

Portraits of ladies,

in fine jewellery,

with books to balance,

the impression.

Native characters,

with dancing bears.

Ashen-thighed men

with chillums.

The Royal Champion crackpots,

with their carcasses.

Nobility,

with their furious brows

and serious stares.

Satisfactory views of

drawing, dining, sitting,

bed rooms, verandahs etc.

showing clearly the arrangement

and detail of furniture.

This man with seven wives

— a father,

looking out of the frame,

against the painted prop,

with a baby on his lap,

assured that,

although babies and children

occasion much trouble,

and require a large

number of plates,

it will be no extra charge.

Mrs. Smalley with an umbrella.

Colonel Keys, Royal Resident,

reliable business-ally.

Nawab Ghalib & Friends,

huddling to hear the first

phonograph recording,

stuffing tubes into their ears.

Ghulam Mahmood & Friends,

with nautch-girls and hooch,

in the studio for a photograph,

for their book of faces.

The heads of all sitters,

cast in the strongest light,

without causing any shadows

in their pictures,

now hung on walls with wheels.

(Impressions of a curated showing of Raja Deen Dayal's photographs at the IGNCA.)

Missing:

One bright idea.

Last encountered:

last night.

Disappeared while asleep.

Useful collector's item.

(Presumably)

Of some value.

(Arguably)

General description:

Do not remember.

Contents:

Cannot recollect.

(I should have

taken it down,

before it fled.

Because that is what

some ideas do

- fly by night.)

Sound Effects

Tumblers getting ready,

for dinner,

at dusk.

The traffic of distant trucks,

- a low, steady hum,

in the quiet night.

Comfort

These shiny, unhappy people,

holding hands and angry signs,

Forced me to take my conscience

for a walk today.

So what if my emotional life

is run by social networks at times,

And all I do is shake my head

and sigh in front of the television.

Someday, when we need,

a supporter or a normal nut,

Maybe I won't,

hang out at home that day.

Fall 2010

In short,
it read:
Naked,
like a tree in winter,
against the sky
- Wait.

Note to Self #2: Start. Finish.

So, down the drain goes desire —
Everything crushed within seconds,
or sucked into that colossal
black hole of a question.
This too began with a thought —
planned with purpose.
What's the point?

Note to Self #1: Do. Or do not. There is no try.

"So, do you write?"
asked the visiting professor,
from across the room.

I wanted to say,
"I want to, but I can't."
But I couldn't.