Universes

Today we spoke

of parallel universes.

She said she could step into it

with a turn of a door knob

and disappear for hours.

I could see her room

to the last detail,

the window letting in

the fading light of the evening sun,

her paintings glistening on the walls,

even the shape of

the magnets on her fridge.

"I have my bag ready,"

she said excitedly

"even in my sleep."

I could sense the taste of sweet revenge.

I don’t find it strange,

that a person

can be completely

happy

in another

world

which revolves

to one’s wishes;

where every brush stroke

could paint the skies to your hues

(flashing green, neon yellow, aquamarine blue)

and every breath see life renew.

It took me to our own

where life was as calm as the sea…

Conversations, roaring laughter,

music, books, ideas, clashing perspectives

swayed to the tunes of

sea breeze and rain.

I still remember

the day

it all came crashing down

as if in a landslide

leaving us broken and apart

into two hemispheres of a

divided world.

There are times when I pack my bags too.

Alice in Realityland #11

 

Little Alice had embarrassed herself once again! She had slipped on the soap water, which she prepared to make bubbles, exactly as her mother had warned. Rachel’s laughter was reverberating in the background. Alice clenched her teeth from the pain in her left elbow. She wished that she had the power to turn invisible rather than live through this pain of embarrassment. She hated the “I told you so” look on Amma’s face and the mocking expression on Rachel’s. Although  Alice tried to be brave and shut her eyes tight so that the tears would not escape, it started to roll down uncontrollably.

Alice’s mom ran to her and hugged her. She tried to soothe her saying “it’s ok,” but also added, “this is the very reason why I told you not to play with the soapy water. Now calm down.,”  patting her. Rachel stood opposite to her and mimicked the whole scene of her fall including the way she was crying. Seeing this, Alice who had almost stopped crying, started once again. Realizing that Rachel was the cause of this outburst Amma said aloud in anger, 

“Rachel… why are you making fun of her? It was because you were not willing to share the book that she had been asking you that this whole catastrophe happened. Now give the book to her.”

“This is not fair… why should I get the blame for every little thing 'she' does? Besides it was just a minor… naa… a tiny accident not a “catastrophe.” Besides, maa I will not give her the book. Appa bought it for me after such a long time… it is a very expensive book and Alice has a bad history when it comes to taking care of 'books'!” retorted Rachel exasperated.

Hearing the sob of Alice escalating from an alto to a soprano, mother said, in a more calm yet formal tone,

“Fine Rachel! If you are not going to share the book with her, forget about your sleepover at Michelle’s to watch the lunar eclipse.”

“But Maa…” cried Rachel, but did not say aloud what she had in her mind. She knew that her mother was serious and that anything she uttered would work against her own plans. Fuming with anger she turned to Alice who was now giggling  and called her “pest.”

The book under question was one on astronomy. Its glazing pages revealed the mysteries of outer space with every flip. Rachel had been holding on to it, as if it’s made of gold, from the very moment Appa had brought it home. She didn’t allow Alice to go anywhere near it, lest she tear even a tiniest corner of it or give expression to her artistic side on the margins of its glossy pages, which has been the case before.

The arrival of the lunar eclipse had made this book even more special. Rachel had learned the pages on the topic thoroughly, so that she can observe the sky without missing a detail, on the day of the eclipse. She wanted to watch the phenomenon with Michelle her friend, who had a huge telescope. Surprisingly, Mother had agreed that this time she could go alone without Alice, which was a rare treat for Rachel, who otherwise would have to tag Alice along wherever she went.

With a deep reluctance Rachel gave the book to Alice. “Treat this with respect. One tear or one mark… and you will not be alive on the face of this earth,” warned Rachel in a serious mafia tone pointing her finger at her.

Alice smirked and then hungrily turned the pages specifically to the one on lunar eclipse, because Rachel has been making a huge hue and cry about it for weeks now. It was falling on the 28^th of October, that is, on that very night. After reading about how it is caused by earth’s shadow falling on the moon, even she could feel a tingle of excitement arising from the pits of her stomach. But what made her even happier, was the information that this eclipse could be observed with the naked eye, not necessarily with a telescope. Finally she can be at peace. She had thought that she would never be able to see it in her life without a telescope. “Rachel… gotcha…” she said to herself with a sense of satisfaction.

Alice then marched to the kitchen informing her mother her plans about staying awake that night to watch the eclipse. As Rachel left for Michelle’s home on her bicycle, she waved her goodbye  eagerly. This startled her sister, as she was expecting Alice to be in tears throwing another tantrum.

From the moment Rachel left, Alice paced up and down the hall keeping watch of the time. “It is at 11.30 and I’m gonna watch it!” she told herself, determined. Hours trickled by slowly 6.30, 7.30, 8.30. As it was getting closer to the destined hour, the needles of the hour seemed to be moving even slower. At 9.30  while having dinner with her parents, she announced 

 “Two more hours to go. You may sleep if you don’t wish to see the eclipse but I surely am going to see it.” 

They smiled at each other amused by the seriousness on her face. 

“I will do one thing” she added, “I will set the alarm… just in case…I’m sure I will be awake… but still.” 

Her parents tried to muffle their laughter by covering their mouth.

At 10  Alice rolled up her mat and blanket and marched to the open terrace. She held her little alarm clock tight in her right hand. The sky was clear and moon was shining brightly. She felt happy instantly. She rolled out her mat and lay down. The stars, she noticed, were even brighter that night. After a while she even saw a shooting star and was extremely happy. "This is going to be the best night ever," she thought and smiled.

She imagined herself landing on the moon in the humongous astronaut suit just like the man Neil Armstrong, whom she had seen in the book. She walked across buoyantly on the surface of the moon with the flag of her country hoisted in her hand. She felt proud and she smiled.

The next moment what she saw, however, was Rachel’s face staring at her from up above blocking the view of the moon. She had been preparing for this moment for so long and there comes Rachel to spoil it she thought. “What are you doing here?” she asked irritated and angry. “Can’t you see I’m watching the Lunar eclipse?”

 “Lunar eclipse does ‘not’ happen in the morning but at night, you idiot!” said Rachel roaring with laughter. “Get up its 9 in the morning!” said she. Little Alice sat up with a jerk unable to comprehend what Rachel was saying. She checked her clock. The alarm was set for 11.15 am not pm.  Alice  looked up to the heavens and ardently wished that an asteroid would come in their direction, hitting this earth --- blowing it to smithereens. 

Invited Talk

It was a pleasant Sunday afternoon

when I preached to

a host of young future priests

about outer space

and inner regimes,

an apocalypse of withered spirits

which reading alone can save.

A few winced, others sat rigid,

some slept with open eyes,

while one took down every word

diligently in his notebook.

After awhile they led me up

a flight of stairs

to cut the ribbon

of a library, with creaking shelves,

updated with old books.

It smelt of ancient history, poetry,

psychology, theology...

crumbling leaves

whispering knowledge

in Latin, English and

mother tongue.

 As I walked back home

with the after taste

of the spot of tea and biscuits

the rector respectfully offered,

I mused on the ways

we all try to save the world.

Meeting Koya*

 

As I was inspecting

the timeworn stone slab,

he appeared before me asking

if I wanted to know more.

Surprised,

I nodded,

to this energetic antique man

who seemed older than

the ancient prayer house.

 

Every tooth lost

except two,

and a mole on the side

of his right brow -

a bulging third eye,

he took me around,

the guardian of the building,

in his navy blue Nike beret cap.

 

“Take a pic of the inscriptions,” he directed

“That way you can study it later.”

 

Amused by his insistence,

I took one.

 

“It was built by the Thachans…” he continued,

in a friendly yet knowledgeable tone

half muffled by his dialect and

his vacant mouth,

then explained how the dimensions

of the wooden square pillars

resembled those

in a temple

echoing

a time of harmony

with the Zamorins.

 

He told me about

three foot tall arches,

now plastered and sealed

where once,

visitors sat,

reading the holy book,

praying hands sliding

over blessed beads.

 

“This mosque was built 700 years ago,”

he said, “by the Yemeni trader,

on the land granted by the Zamorin.”

 

Those were times when the drum here,

announced the beginning of the feast

and the news reverberated

to the ends of the earth,

word of mouth,

one traveller to the next.

 

“Do take a wide angle pic,” he instructed,

“and make sure that you have captured the roof clearly.”

Glancing at my phone

he approved and

I chuckled.

  

Pointing to the square pond

with dark green water

and a few white ducks,

across the road,

he explained how the earth

from the locale strengthened

the swamp ground,

where the prayer house exists.

 

Then spoke of the special doors

ensuring entry or exit

that didn’t erase the prayers,

and the wood and tile roof,

which was once five tiered.

Made of palm fronds,

in the beginning;

it flew off  in a storm,

long long ago,

and was rebuilt.

Later it even survived the fire

set by the Portuguese

whom

the Hindus and Muslims

fought in union.

 

He urged me to clear my doubts,

if I had any,

and I asked

if I could see the interior.

To which he shook his head

side to side

and said, “sorry madam,

women are not allowed inside.

But, you can definitely

have a peek by standing

on the third step!”

 

“And don’t forget to take a pic of yours with the building

in the background!” he added,

flashing his indelible Kodak smile.

 

* Koya – a guide at Kuttichira Mishkal Mosque

Truth

“Why do we always

insist on ‘truth’?”

asked the philosopher.

“There exists

no ‘truth’”

declared the scientist.

“There are only approximations.”

“So that we don’t dance

to the tune of chaos.

So that we can all agree

to a single 'reality!’”

mused the poet.

The Last Poem You Ever Wrote

I miss

the person I am -
you were
when I was with you.

I miss

the endless reveries
and winged words
we soared (and thrived) on.

I miss

watching the universes
spin by, as I twirled
on your fingertips.

I miss

the sound of the rain dripping
across three oceans
in tune with your guitar.

I miss

the post cards
from every city you’ve been
thinking about me-you.

I miss

being your heartache
which bloomed into
the last poem
you ever wrote…

Meeting Roy*

 27.01.2023

She told me how

she found herself

in brokenness and borders;

of how the cacophony

of fear and hatred

blur at the seams

of life and death;

of how ideologies and purblind beliefs

shutter us from our fellow beings;

of how unlike capitalism

we can exist

in different languages

sometimes in parts

sometimes as whole;

of classes and castes

of religions and parties;

of how we can be

passive only till

the political turns personal;

of how important it is to fight

even when you are

so so sure

that you are losing!

*Arundhati Roy - author and political activist