Fable of the Fortieth Sheep

Fable of the Fortieth Sheep

This is a poem, it is

But it also tells a tale

and thereby hangs

something else…

 

Read  my poem “Fable of the Fortieth Sheep” now

in the current issue of The Linnet’s Wings.

I am also sharing space with fellow writers/poets Oonah V Joslin and Bill West!

Click on their names above to read their vivid and evocative work.

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Maria’s Room To Open Shortly In Chennai!

 Shreekumar Varma’s latest book is out!

Harper Collins & The Madras Book Club bring you the Chennai launch of Shreekumar Varma’s latest book, Maria’s Room, a novel of love and memory.

Saturday, January 30, 2010, 6.15 PM  

Hotel Taj Connemara, Egmore, Chennai

Be there if you are in Chennai!  

The Amma Who Took French Leave

Good way to begin 2010!

My story “The Amma who Took French Leave” is up in Per Contra!

 

Happy Reading in 2010 Folks!

♦◊♦◊♦◊♦

 

December Child by Chitralekha

Yes Chitralekha, someone does think it’s good. Now multiply that someone into …I don’t know, how many were there that evening on the 18th of December, 2009 at The Egmore Museum Theatre?

Now all of you who wish to read her 2009 Poetry Slam Audience Favourite poem, it’s here in her blog

Chitralekha’s blog is called Untitled. That’s a rather cryptic name.

Now I wish I could find the little girl who wrote and recited that lovely poem – Penguins!

 

Keep writing. Keep Reading. India’s literary future lies in your hands!

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Dilip Chitre

I was familiar with his name but not his poetry. Dilip Chitre was known to me more as the script writer of some pretty powerful hindi films. I began to read his poetry, the ones available on the web years later, around 2000. The poems were powerful, searing, but these descriptions are mere clichés when describing Dilip Chitre’s work. I met him only once.

That meeting occurred right here in Chennai, on a day that is imprinted with indelible ink in my mind.

Looking back, I remember waiting for a long time outside Apparao Galleries, swatting mosquitoes, getting impatient, but not wanting to leave. I am glad I stayed. Dilip Chitre arrived with his wife, Vijaya, and the Prakriti Foundation people  about forty-five minutes  after the scheduled time. The little hall, more like a reading room was filled to capacity.There was a flurry of activity at my end where some late comers were being accommodated. Somebody asked him to begin, I think, and then his crisp clear and deep voice spread around the room. Dilip Chitre would read once everybody had settled down. That was the first time I heard Dilip’s voice. His was the kind of voice that held you, but did not lance you. Dilip began to read.

Big glossy books, that I knew were beyond my means to buy, and some smaller volumes; he picked up one, seemingly at random and read. He switched from his earlier poems to his famous Says Tuka poems. For the first time in my life I sat listening, as in actually listening, to bhakti poems. I began to understand why he had become a world figure in poetry.

Dilip paused for breath before moving on to talk about his work, his inspirations. He spoke of the day when Namdeo Dhasal parked his taxi and walked the flight of stairs to his home and introduced himself - ”You are a poet? I write poetry too.” And then he read his translations of Namdeo Dhasal’s poems.

As I listened, I felt my blood pounding in my ears. The rest of the audience was obviously affected as well. These were not the lyrical translations of  Bhakti masterpieces that Chitre is famous for. These poems were raw; unstomachably raw, gonad wrenchingly raw. Poem after poem tore at my innards, clawing to ribbons all that is respectable middle class. Unspeakable poems. Unputdownably good. Here are two translations from Poetry International Web. These two poems are tamer than the others.  So you can imagine how shaken I felt, and angry. If it had not been for Dilip we would never have known about Namdeo Dhasal.  He continued with selections from his own poems after that. His poems in English and his Marathi poems translated into English. A sampling is here, at the Poetry International Web page dedicated to Dilip.

We listened. The evening, which had died a long time ago, sucked dry by mosquitos, struggled to ride the night. (I would not realize its significance until at least a month later, when Dilip in Pune and my husband and I in Chennai lay bedridden with Chikunguniya.) The road out side Appa Rao Galleries had turned hazy with moisture and dust-laden air. There was a slight static sound, more like white noise. I got up creakily to take my leave. I had to go even though I wanted to linger with the others, who seemed to be as glued to Dilip as ants on “fried liver pieces gone cold in a plate.” My daughter had slunk in  a couple of times to tell me that they were waiting outside; we were to go to dinner that night. I said goodbye to Dilip and Vijaya, many questions remaining unfulfilled in my throat. There was so much I wanted to hear, so much more. Foolishly I thought, “another time, at least I have established base!”

 ……………………………………………………

We lose so much because we are bound by routine. And then we lose so much because we succumb to anger, allow other people’s tricks to lure us into denying our love for those who are most precious.

That night as I ate and drank with my family, in another part of the country my mother began to die.

Today is the 27th of December. The day I met Dilip for the first and last time. The evening I listened to his poetry that made me angry and sad and all mixed up altogether. The night I thought of my mother, like I have always done, before I went to bed. They called us at ten thirty PM to tell us. I was at the house where she lived, in that city I can only hate,  the next morning, my children and husband shielding me from a sorrow and anger that no one can cocoon me from.  

Tonight I will live through that night of 365 days ago.  And of course, I will not be able to burn down the days leading back to that day and the days immediately preceding it. I will not be able to retrieve her, ever. In my heart the two images, one of Dilip’s reading and the other of my mother, her classically beautiful face, flash again and again like a movie gone mad. The way they have flashed almost everyday during this past year. I could not interact with Dilip on Facebook with the ease with which the others did. And those who, so easily, wrote: “Dilip Chitre RIP.” I could not bear that either. Dilip’s poetry will of course remain. Not because he is dead, but because he wrote the kind of poetry that tends to stay. My mother too will remain. Not merely in memory, because I do not grieve her death. I rage. ___________________________________________

 

I found this article on Dilip Chitre. Thought it was better than the many vapid tributes to him that has been flooding  reading spaces lately.

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It Turned Out to be a Poetry-thon!

I don’t think any of us knew what we were in for. Not Prakriti Foundation. Not the US Consul in Chennai. Not us the featured poets, certainly not me. But perhaps the audience had inkling. After all most of the seventy-eight poets, including the twenty-eight who could not take part in the slam competition (organised by the Chennai US Consul and the Prakriti Foundation) but  got the chance to say their pieces at the end. What’s more, it seems there were many who the organisers had to sadly turn away because there simply wasn’t enough time to accommodate them! The slam began at five and ended at nearly nine, definitely after eight thirty! It certainly turned out to be a thunderous poetry-thon!

There were fifty participants, young, old and middling who competed, and in between to provide breathers (mostly to the judges, including the chief guest Mamang Dai, and also to the audience who were given cards to vote their favourites) were us five poets. Sharanya Mannivannan started off the programme with two poems. Her reading was followed by the participants and then Vasanth another featured poet took the mike. He read one poem. Dominic Franks was the third featured poet with two poems followed by more participants; the fourth was Meena Kandasamy, she also read out two and I closed with three poems.

My husband and daughter were there in the audience.  Hubby took a video recording, but it’ll take me a while to upload. These days I am more than a bit busy, physically, emotionally and intellectually. Writing, as is clear from the state of my blog, has taken a severe backseat. Anyway, to come back to the Poetry Slam:

This was Chennai’s first poetry slam. And it proved without a doubt that this city, so often dismissed as old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy is literally bubbling over poets who not only want to go on stage, but can hold the mike with Elan!  As with all slams and poetry readings open to the public, there were the usual suspects among the poets and their poems - the didactic, the trying to be polemic, the cause broadcasters and  so on. There was at least one, that I remember, which was a this is a very funny poem it’s on my wife type. But along with the chaff,  there were wonderful surprises and unique poetic voices, not just in English but Tamil, Hindi and Urdu as well. The Urdu poems were particularly good. Moreover it was a pleasure to hear this sweet language on the microphone pouring forth poetry. For Hindi I was actually looking forward to some experimentation, but the poets seemed to have preferred the more traditional, tried and tested poetic routes. Just this morning I listened to some beautifully lyrical Hindi poems read out by Manav Kaul, a playwright and poet from Mumbai, originally hailing from Kashmir. In retrospect, it would have been simply amazing if Manav Kaul had been one of the featured poets. I would have gladly given up my place for him. I still don’t understand Tamil so I cannot comment. But Meena (Kandasamy) who sat next to me, told me the gist of some of the Tamil poems, and I was delighted with one which was on the environment, read out passionately by a young girl.

There were just too many poets and poems for me to digest. But some stood out and after six days at least two still resonate in my head, in theme and tone, if not the real words. One was the audience favourite winning poem by a young girl – Chitralekha, who wrote this poem to her as yet unborn niece; this too was about the environment, skilfully woven and tenderly recited. The other poem that stood out for me was unfortunately not in the competing category. This one was read out by a school girl who had arrived too late to take part. I can’t remember her name, but her long poem “Penguins” would have received full marks for the subject and treatment (certainly from me!). She read it out in a clear and sweet as bell voice. The poem told a whole story, the structure, as far as I can remember resembled the Ballad – my favourite form, and it was skilfully rhymed. Wherever you are little girl, keep writing!

There were a few more child poets, one so diminutive that I almost had to crane to see him clearly! And of course all of us went “Aw, scho schweet!” I wish there were more children. And more middle-aged women! Yes middle-aged women. You know, all those moms who have subverted their own creativity to nurture their husbands and children, all those women who are, for all their hard work, almost non-existent for the world at large. That evening at the Egmore Museum Theatre, there were a number of such women, wading through the crowd, braving the spotlight, to bring out the poets within. I know how much courage one needs to climb up the steps to take that microphone from its stand on the raised wooden floor. And there were women and girls in burkhas too, lots of them! Shaking the stage up with their passionate poetic voices.

The curtain fell and the lights dimmed. I came away thinking how wonderful the evening had been and how necessary. I hope other organisations will take up the challenge and host more poetry slams in Chennai.  

“Poetry is Everywhere…Poetry is Everything…Poetry is You”

- The Prakriti Foundation

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Brave New Voices Tomorrow (18/12/09, 5 PM IST) at The Museum Theatre, Egmore, Chennai

This is a poetry slam competition organised by The Prakriti Foundation and The US Consulate in Chennai. The programme will feature five poets from around the region, including me and then the stage will be open to young people from colleges and other education institutes and the audience as well to recite/perform their original poems.

The details are here

See You There!

The Prakriti Poetry Festival 2009 Timetable

The Prakriti Poetry Festival timetable for 2009 is here

I have also copy-pasted the timetable, take a look:

December 16 – 30, 2009 Poetry with Prakriti

Date		MORNING		EVENING
Dec	Day	Poet	Venue	Poet	Venue
16th	Wednesday	HOSHANG MERCHANT	LOYOLA COLLEGE @ 10	HOSHANG MERCHANT	MADRAS UNIV @ 2
		ANU MAJUMDHAR	KALAKSHETRA @ 8.30	ANU MAJUMDHAR	INAUGURAL AT THE TAJ @ 6
		ALKA PANDE	WCC @11	HOSHANG MERCHANT	INAUGURAL AT THE TAJ @ 6
		ANU MAJUMDHAR	MGR JANAKI COLLEGE@ 11	ALKA PANDE	INAUGURAL AT THE TAJ @ 6
			PSBB SCHOOL K.K.NAGAR @ 2
17th	Thursday	ANU MAJUMDHAR	WCC @ 11	MAHUA SEN	PARK @ 5
		MAHUA SEN	LOYOLA COLLEGE @ 10	ANNIE ZAIDI	AMM SCHOOL @ 2.30
		HOSHANG MERCHANT	KALAKSHETRA @ 8.30
		ANNIE ZAIDI	MGR JANAKI COLLEGE @ 11
18th	Friday	ANNIE ZAIDI & MAHUA SEN	KALAKSHETRA @ 8.30	MAMANG DAI	MADRAS UNIV @ 2
		MAMANG DAI	LOYOLA @ 10
		MURALI SIVARAMAKRISHNAN	AMM SCHOOOL @ 12
		MAHUA SEN	MGR JANAKI COLLEGE @ 10.30
19th	Saturday	MAMANG DAI & PARNAB	KALAKSHETRA @ 8.30	MAMANG DAI	CHOLAMANDAL ARTISTS VILLAGE @ 2
		SAMPURNA CHATTARJI	LOYOLA @ 10	SAMPURNA CHATTARJI	APPARAO GALLERY @ 6
		MURALI SIVARAMAKRISHNAN	KRMMC @ 10.30	MURALI SIVARAMAKRISHNAN	FAB INDIA @ 6
		PARNAB MUKHERJEE	MOP VAISHNAV COLLEGE
20th	Sunday	SAMPURNA CHATTARJI	CHOLAMANDAL ARTISTS VILLAGE @ 11	SAMPURNA CHATTARJI	MADRAS TERRACE HOUSE @ 7
		DOMINIC FRANKS	CHOLAMANDAL ARTISTS VILLAGE @ 11	DOMINIC FRANKS	APPARAO GALLERY @ 6
21st	Monday	ARUNI KASHYAP	VASTRAKALA @11	ARUNI KASHYAP	MADRAS TERRACE HOUSE @ 7
		DOMINIC FRANKS	SUNDARI SILKS @ 11	DOMINIC FRANKS	MADRAS TERRACE HOUSE @ 7
22nd	Tuesday	ARUNI KASHYAP	VINU JOHNS VERVE@11.30	ARUNI KASHYAP	PARK @ 5
		RIZIO RAJ	CHOLAMANDAL ARTISTS VILLAGE @ 11	RIZIO RAJ	APPARAO GALLERY @ 6
			SHILPI ALWARPET @ 11
23rd	Wednesday	MANAV KAUL	VASTRAKALA @11	MANAV KAUL	EVOLUZIONE
		RIZIO RAJ	FULL CIRCLE BOOKS @11	RIZIO RAJ	ASAN MEMORIAL SCHOOL @ 1
		DEEPIKA ARAWIND	SHILPI NUNGAMBAKKAM @ 11	DEEPIKA ARAWIND
24th	Thursday	MANAV KAUL	VINU JOHNS VERVE@11.30	MANAV KAUL	MADRAS TERRACE HOUSE @ 7
		DEEPIKA ARAWIND	ASHARA @11	DEEPIKA ARAWIND	OXFORD BOOK STORE @ 5
25th	Friday
26th	Saturday	GOPIKA JADEJA	GOOD EARTH @11	GOPIKA JADEJA	CHOLAMANDAL ARTISTS VILLAGE @ 2
		E.V.RAMAKRISHNAN	KALAKSHETRA @ 8.30	E.V.RAMAKRISHNAN	FAB INDIA@ 6
		TENZIN TSUNDUE	KALAKSHETRA @ 8.30	TENZIN TSUNDUE	AICUF
				ANANTA KUMAR GIRI	TFL GYM @ 5
27th	Sunday	GOPIKA JADEJA	SUNDARI SILKS @ 11	GOPIKA JADEJA & ANANTA KUMAR GIRI	APPARAO GALLERY @ 7
		E.V.RAMAKRISHNAN	CHOLAMANDAL ARTISTS VILLAGE @ 11	E.V.RAMAKRISHNAN	MADRAS TERRACE HOUSE @ 7
		ANANTA KUMAR GIRI
		TENZIN TSUNDUE	CHOLAMANDAL ARTISTS VILLAGE @ 11	TENZIN TSUNDUE	LAND MARK?
28th	Monday	NITOO DAS	FULL CIRCLE BOOKS @11	NITOO DAS	OXFORD BOOK STORE @ 5
		ADITI MACHADO	FULL CIRCLE BOOKS @11	ADITI MACHADO	EVOLUZIONE @ 5
29th	Tuesday	NITOO DAS	VINU JOHNS VERVE@11.30	NITOO DAS	EVOLUZIONE @ 5
		ADITI MACHADO	ASHARA @ 11	ADITI MACHADO	OXFORD BOOK STORE @ 5
		DR.RATI SAXENA	ASHARA @ 11	DR.RATI SAXENA	DEUTSCHE BANK @ 5
30th	Wednesday	DR.RATI SAXENA	GOOD EARTH @11	DR.RATI SAXENA	OXFORD BOOK STORE @ 5

Prize and Valedictory: 30th, 5.00pm

* Subject to Change

www.poetrywithprakriti.in

Missing My Story in Danse Macabre!

My story is called Missing the Movie, and I missed it!

I can’t believe this. I actually forgot to post a publication news about myself in my blog! Haha! I must be truly distracted! I am still not writing, even though stories and poems are dogging me where ever I go. I have lost a number of poems lately because I simply didn’t feel like putting them down; my muse has a bad habit of whispering in my ear when I am at my furthest most from my desktop! Though that is hardly any excuse. I am simply not my writing self these days.  Same thing with stories, but at least they are still in my head so there is hope yet, for a while. I don’t know or more likely can’t talk about why I am doing this to myself. Anyway,  more of that later, some other time, maybe.

The good news is that this story (one which I truly like) was published in Danse Macabre last month. I feel good about it for two reasons: One, this is my first appearance in Danse Macabre and you have to read the journal to understand why I am pleased as Punch. Secondly, as I said two lines ago, I really like this particular story. And no, I am not one of those writers who always love whatever they write like a doting momma. I have no maternal feelings for my poetry and fiction. Once they are done, they are done. So when I say I like this or that story (same goes for poetry)  I mean I enjoyed reading it as a reader once the piece got written and sealed (as in published), after a reasonable gap of time.

So here it is: Missing the Movie

Once again read the journal!

Hope you like my story. Happy reading!

Pelicans … And Two More

Mascara Literary Review

The November issue is up and three of my poems are in it!

The Other Side of the Sun

Anaesthetised

Pelicans on The Brisbane River

This poem happened in Brisbane but was not written down until a few years after! Below are a couple of pictures that captured the scene:

Pelicans chasing our boat

Pelicans going after the fish that we offered