A sonorous wish

I was a bit elated for having finished the book “Fermat’s Last Theorem” by Simon Singh at last a few days ago. This book recommended by my brother has got all the real life drama involving the mathematical wizards of generations to solve a 300 year old mathematical riddle, posed casually by an amateur mathematician, Fermat. The stress and mental agony the mathematicians had undergone on an algebraic equation shook me really. It was a matter of pride for them to solve the centuries old challenge.

Within a couple of days, I was asked to invigilate AMIE exam conducted in The Indian Embassy. I took up the first book of Khushwant Singh, ‘Train to Pakistan’ to kill my boredom. While flipping the first few pages over there, I was not greatly impressed, for it was nothing but description of characters of a sleepy village, Mano Majra. I lost interest and tossed the book aside after reaching home. However, basic instinct prevailed in a couple of days again and hence picked up from where I have left. In fact, the book not only killed my boredom but also highlighted the cruel killings of thousands of innocent lives.

The author has handled human emotions of the gory incidents involving India-Pakistan partition in such a fine fashion that I could not stop thinking of anything else except it. Mano Majra, a village sandwiched between Pakistan and India border houses both mainly Muslims and Sikhs. They respect each other and nevertheless their relationships are always cordial. A murder happens in that village followed by the arrival of a social worker, Iqbal. Jugga budmash & Iqbal are wrongly framed for the murder due to clever Deputy Commissioner, Hukum Chand. In the meantime, a train of Indian corpses arrive Mano Majra from the Pakistan border and that changes the scenario. There is a plot of the young patriotic Sikhs to revenge these types of killings to send a similar train to Pakistan. The volunteers collect near Mano Majra station to avenge their thirst for blood. In the meantime, the Muslims of Mano Majra are evacuated and are supposed to travel in the same train. What happens in the end is something to be read.

I am thoroughly disturbed by the author’s lucid narration of incidents involving this partition. I remember crying after watching the TV serial ‘Tamas’ and disturbed by Rani’s death in ‘Hey Ram’. But this story is beyond all those. I am completely absorbed by the emotions, for it is true even today. In the name of religion, people are tossed like toys by politicians, bureaucrats, terrorists etc.

Who should be blamed for these ongoing killings as the lick of blood is still wanted in many communities to revive the rivalries?

• Visionary of the British rulers for their cunning ploy of dividing the erstwhile undivided Bharat?
• Or the insensible and irresponsible people for succumbing to such emotional bargains?
• Or the diplomacy of the government in tackling such horrid recurring of incidents?
• Or anybody and everybody?

Sitting in my well protected flat enjoying the pleasures of life, my heart experienced a gale of emotions….

• Should I be contented with my inner world of peace or should I bother about the outer world of war?
• Should I preach non-violence from my haven or should I dare not visit those places even in dreams?
• Should I pray for Lord Kalki’s early arrival to destroy the cunning and the wicked (who spoil the world) if that includes me or should I not react at all?

Anger, vengeance, hatred, malice, revenge are difficult to see their death. No wonder, such chain reactions are hard to settle down. Is there anyone who is physically, mentally and spiritually strong enough to solve this political riddle that’s tearing Mother India and also Earth?

Peace and love must be the only religion, pledge, motto and life of all lives. All I can do is to write such a sonorous wish.

At times of practical and personal crisis, how many ears would this wish genuinely reach including mine – a point to be remembered though.

Mind & Body, Heart & Soul

Yesterday I came face to face with the fact that ‘Music is divine’. Even now when I think of it, my eyes dispose tears of joy.

Atul & I (courtesy of the generous husband) attended the live concert of the performance of maestros held in the Bahrain Exhibition Centre between 8:30 & 10:30 p.m. yesterday.

The maestros were :

Tabla – Zakir Hussain
Mandolin – U. Srinivas
Vocals – Shankar Mahadevan
Drums & Percussion – Sivamani

These artists are really gifted for they took us with ease to a different world of magic and divinity of music. I was in total awe looking at the mind boggling gimmicks of the dynamic Sivamani, fantastic beats of Zakir Hussain, breathtaking swaras of Shankar Mahadevan and impeccable play of Srinivas. No more words do I find to say more.

Spending BD 40/- for two tickets is expensive for us. But it is really worth paying, for the proceeds are likely to go to charity for lighting up the eyes of the blind and also for providing the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hear those great masters of their fields.

I came home with a headache (migraine) as usual for I am noise allergic but then I can afford to experience pain along with pleasure sometimes. For it was a rare occasion to feed my body, mind, heart & soul with high-class music.

Arts & artists - can they be compared?

I chanced upon a quote of Leonardo Da Vinci which said, “The poet ranks far below the painter in the representation of visible things, and far below the musician in that of invisible things.”

He had the right to compare poetry with painting and music as he was a gigantic fusion of being a scientist, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, painter, sculptor, architect, botanist, musician, poet and writer.

A deep thought on his statement triggered off the following points in my mind.....

• Even a 3 month old baby can respond to lilting music
• Even a 3 year old appreciates painting
• But sometimes even a 30 year old doesn’t show interest in poetry

They are true for a common man whose senses are intact.

What about those deaf, dumb and blind? Where do they stand in the regions of visible and invisible things?

A deaf can never feel the musical notes on his ears. He is not aware that music truly surpasses the language barriers and stirs the listening heart expressing its cosmic unity of souls. He is even deprived of enjoying the rustling of leaves, roaring of waves, pounding of heart, laughter of a baby, whack on the head, tapping on the stagnant water, rushing of rivers, clapping of hands, lighting of a matchstick, …….. His world is one of meditative state of silence which a spiritual man wants to achieve. In fact, forms and frames take him to far greater heights.

A born blind on the other hand is deprived of enjoying the beautiful sceneries, landscapes, waterfalls, clouds, oceans, waves, mountains, stars, sky, man, woman, physical display of emotions…….. Have we ever bothered to find out how does he shape his world of beings and things? I often wonder on these lines as he has no base to construct anything; as his world is one of the unknown horizons. So, the magic of painting has no place in his life whereas his extraordinary sensory organs can capture music to make him travel quickly beyond his dark world.

What if one is blind and deaf? How did Helen Keller manage to live in a world without sounds and images? What her life would have been if not for Anne Sullivan? I dread to think of such a situation for myself as I could not have differentiated between a lion and a tiger till my death.

While painting is reachable for deaf and music for blind, writing is one such art form which can give life to both. And poetry is a branch of it.

Poetry has its own world of charms and dreams, imaginations and beauty, subtleties and creativity.

Shakespeare says,

“The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.”


The only eligibility criterion for a reader to capture the poet’s frenzied imagination is the language.

Don’t we all (that includes deaf & blind) learn at least one language in our lifetime?

The irony is, Da Vinci compared artists of different arts. Just like one needs to master the language to become a laudable poet, did he not know that the strokes of a painter should also be free-flowing and musical notes of a musician should be one of exemplary perfection? What is a visible thing and an invisible thing according to him?

So long one has brain, so long one’s thought processes are alive, imagination and perfection are necessary for any art form, is it not?

As for me, where your interest lies, that’s where matters begin and end whether it is music or painting or poetry. You can trip down to visible and invisible things as per your wish in your own world.

Let me clarify here that this piece of writing is not to attack or defend Da Vinci's statement. I simply adore him for what he was, as it is said that the world is yet to see such a genius still. And he has a right to hold this opinion from his viewpoint.

It is mainly intended to explore different worlds of different people capable of mastering different arts in their presentation and representation.

Euphoria

Go to a beach nearby
Leave your slippers aside
Feel the tickle of sand underneath
Swallow the beauty of waves in your eyes
Walk slowly towards the sea
Delete all around you from consciousness
Let the first wave kiss your feet

Viola!
That’s a euphoric moment
Let the matter and water mix within you
Retain the chillness touching your adrenaline
Zoom ahead with your emotions
Laugh or smile liberally

I can assure you one thing
Whoever feels desolate
He/she is sure to feel -
Come what may in life
I am loved by Him always

Those droplets…

Your every effort
May look insignificant
But actually they are not
Watch those droplets
Filling the bucket
Slowly and steadily…
Your effort is nothing
But those priceless droplets
He told me the other day

Obeying his words
I sat before those droplets
And watched them patiently
Alas!
I realised all of a sudden
That I had already wasted
Those droplets of time
From my bucket full of life

Does anybody know
How many droplets
Can I afford to fit in still?

'The trail' in GDN

One more poem 'The trail' is published in Gulf Daily News today.


http://www.gulf-daily-news.com/story.asp?Article=200185&Sn=BNEW&IssueID=30242

Silhouettes of souls

There was an attractive liquid smile
On my lips with an innocent finish
Adorning the mirror of anomaly
Radiating youth with silver strands
Deceiving the ruthless age clock

In a flash least expected
Those stiletto cuts of time
Slithered my body in a cross
Pushing to the dominion of decompose
With a thumping expertise

Realising my stance less stance
In the form of a spiritless spirit
I visualised those silver images
That caressed my erstwhile life
With care, concern and love

Helpless, as I looked ahead in a jiffy
With a welled up heart and teary eyes
An angel of all-encompassing love
Held my left hand to raise the right
Towards the kingdom of souls

A luminous light with matchless velocity
Enveloped my matter-less bosom softly
Playing the ballroom scenes
Of those silhouettes that cared me
Which left me alone staggered

I found the shadows of my old life
And the love of those silhouettes
Were only whimsical play of Light
That kept changing its hues
Switching my cries and laughter

With a shapeless smile of peace
I shrugged my blemishes in a wink
And whisk passed my body & those silhouettes
With a will to be a soul of Light -
A birth that sees no death