A year in Kurupam

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

A year in Kurupam

(written on 29^th June, 2015, Kurupam)

The afternoon storm rolls in

as i type

into this laptop

on an antique marble round-table at which i sit everyday

facing the terrace

and the old repaired bloc

that i’ve written verse

on

in the context of fruit bats and ruins long ago.

And the hills and trees.

Struggles against quarrying, mining, land and rights:

Orchestras heard, reverberated

A continuum.

Greater focus now

on gender-justice

in socio-economic planning.

A thunder-clap just heard

as i declare

that one

has been here since forever

And also

since exactly a year ago from today

(coincidentally, last year’s Jagannath Rath Yatra date).

in the avatar

of Democratic Princess of the Palace

(alliterative, that, but also Fort).

(As compared to earlier postings:

-people’s princess; ambassador to delhi and elsewhere)

And so on!)

Surfing the tech n media wave

For all it’s worth

And perhaps

calling a few shots.

Here, mostly in solitary splendour

holding fort and connected.

That would’ve been the destination and envy

of many a monarch

that might’ve chased Empire

through the course of the history

of this planet.

Not amused

by subtle surveillance:

remote frequencies: sounds, odours, thought and dream projections

reek

of pressures being exerted

on surrounding troupes

local factors, petty actors, no doubt.

Is this how a mansabdari system

talks to its Empress?

(One only approves

of direct, straightforward forthright communication

in the realm of direct communication

-even reality theatre should be Declared to be as such

Or it degenerates

into deceit).

Grim measures

-though nature’s treasures

compensate somewhat,

conjuring epic grandeur

from drudgery (ill-defined)

esp when thought of

in the light

of the masses.

This last bit

of reasoning

a narrative

with its own constraints.

A trick for the altruistic:

To calibrate the charisma

(esp when not in the running

for sainthood and the like).

Strike out, watch out,

a whistle’s a chant

-pierces though flutes,

wanders through stars.

...............................................

~poetry~

...to put today’s writing into another perspective, i share with readers, a verse that i wrote in 1996:

KURUPAM – WAIT FOR ME (written on 5/4/1996 in New Delhi)

The earth, it moves so quickly now

And i’m so far away

The sun and night

They come and go

While winds of change blow through those trees.

Women and men

They also sway

Struck, perchance, by some global breeze....

“Waste no time but lead me there

There, to do as Nature decrees.”

[“Nay, tarry awhile

Perhaps there’s something here today

Which is why you’re here.

Here, so far away.”]

Spring Equinox 2015: Fort Kurupam and Many Worlds (Mystical)

Spring Equinox 2015: Fort Kurupam and Many Worlds (Mystical)

greetings
from the high priestess
of the earthen empire
today, we chant of ashes and also of fire.

there's a holy season on
with sanskrit rituals being performed
on time
but the dreamscape brings forth prayers
from a different clime: the Buddhist Sampa Sadhana
was embedded in some muscle
and heard
and so today, its been surfed to and posted
from a random search of sites that have hosted
such mantras.

sharing it
here on my facebook wall
(a link)
and i think
i've located
a relevant
article
on immolations by tibetan monks
that i'm
uploading
without fear or favour

Inida, China, their minds might waver
when you look deeper
into the Odiyana question.

From the valley of Swat
to the grand Hyatt
oases and ravines en route
the ever-expanding empire
will spiral through
and render the uncouth
soothsayers
at least.

~poetry~
By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Once Upon A Watering-Hole On World Water Day

Once Upon A Watering-Hole On World Water Day

sticking with the diary theme
but not quoting directly
since it's a publisher's dream
(hint hint!).

however, bits n bobs i now scatter
such as the matter of Mary Malone
Spanish, Swiss n French
Many Indian languages, all in a sense
chillin at an Irish tent
aeons ago, but on 22 March!

now i find the song's on youtube
-been addressin' their Caliph
for some years i find
trillions of hits
but only today did i wind my way
to the particular rendition
(there's a poster with a mention
of Robinhood!)

Kangaroo courts might work for Oz
but please do note
here, we strive to walk the tightrope
when it comes to justice-delivery.

Unlike the executive and legislative wings
that might function like pizza delivery,
when it comes to applying the rules of natural justice
you need checks and balances to keep a watch on quirks
and this is how the unliveried
Supreme Intelligence
lurks!

(oh my goodness!
it's also the birthday of His Holiness!!!)

~poetry~
By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Ugadi greetings n all 2015

Ugadi greetings n all 2015

my diary entry
of 21st March (Sat), 1998
is as
follows:
"Went with Jenni and Nandini 
to North Beach-
Italian dinner.
Walked through Chinatown,
drove past Fisherman's Wharf,
drove through
the crookedest street".

(i've just changed the syntax
for my beat).

as for lunch arrangements
one cooks up a daily storm
or plain weather
Kaar seva of sorts
workwise- on an even course
for now.

so Ugadi subhakankshalu
and all manner of greeting
the Navaraatra begins today:

wiccan folk are out to play
who made who
and who is who
a picnic song is on it's way
shuroo shuroo
kiya jaayey
yay yay yay
a chant's in line
thunder, lightning, sun n stars
women were from Venus, men were from Mars
ajeeb hai logic, aisee waisee
abh research karo
Stasi!

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Land Lore

written and posted on Facebook yesterday (19th March, 2015)

Land Lore

today, i write from the grand durbar
lets take no chances
we're way into the required action!
time to take charge
and bring each faction
into line.

land laws, water-wars, administration counts.
sign up, sign up, memorandum 'n all
don't just sit there and bawl (wait: the protests must continue as well)
but do the needful, although time might tell.

there are a number of reasons for which this must go to a committee
fashionable or not,
and irrespective of whether or not
people have read the Hermes mythology
(monaco biscuits, english loaves, appetite now
for more invisibility cloaks
to eavesdrop on all of humanity
-spare me!)

think of a good chairperson
one who (obviously)
shouldn't be swayed
by personal agendas
and who's got a good nose
for the gender-justice
cause.
or the differently-abled and inter-generational
equity
one.
that's the priority
and the context
from which to view all the other vexed aspects of this subject.

then, of course, one who is adept at chairing sessions in an unbiased manner
with a good rapport with MPs and parties of every demeanour
and not personally dogmatic with decisions and views
all in all, one who can find the proper consensus
-might make sense to make a shortlist of such people from the current pool
yes, yes, we're still talking legislative matters: focus is the rule.
(speaking French needn't be a criteria, but there's got to be unprecedented
support extended by the secretariat
to seek inputs, translate and collate them, assist the chariot
and ensure that nobody's sidelined.)

haha, it should go to a committee
are there any doubts?
Trash the ordinance; set up a time-bound parliamentary committee
i don't see reasons to delay the timing, all that'll do is have the opposition whining
with consequences.

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

In Defence Of Intelligence

In Defence Of Intelligence

back to my favourite topic:
Land.
let me tell you
you can't just command
people to leave their homes
in a democracy.

Then what would be the difference
between that
and the army
taking over
like in smaller neighbouring countries
tell me please
is that what we want?
definitely not.

SO
so for as to not let the system
go to rot
we have to make sure the systems work.
nobody shirk
your duty
to your nation and very importantly
to future generations.

ms shrutidevi has lots of friends
but to get the exact trends
of what people think and want
she would know
as she roams around
quite a bit
please read her poems
and see what you can gauge
even if its in the english language.
But better still would be
if brighter sparks such as we
could peruse the fine-print
on her political blog.

you see, it is almost an emergency
this ordinance, the previous act
all smack
of patriarchy, fascism what-not
and has to be all brought
to a better, more logical conclusion
ask only v shruti devi her detailed views
that's the only way to avoid confusion
is what i today think.

older and wiser
and with only dues
towards the Almighty
(who am i to refuse!)

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

A Birth Anniversary

A Birth Anniversary

mum's dad (aja's)
birth anniversary is today
he'd have turned
eighty-four (my tenth-standard Hindi score)
had he been around,
and there'd have been some laughs.

his early retirement from politics
led him to other trysts
with books and ideas, explorations of many worlds
that he'd been introduced to
back in the Rajkumar College
the one at Raipur
where they were trained to administer and to rule.

come independence
and the family made the unusual choice
of joining the congress party
instead of the other one
towards which most of the other rajahs and maharajas made a beeline.

of his stint in parliament
he had many anecdotes
and of the time
he went around the world in fashionable coats
(as seen in the pictures and black and white reels)
- he was an avid photographer,
had set up a dark room
and presented me with my first camera
when i was very, very little.
made me a member of the wizbiz club
(a Telegraph corner for kiddies of the era).

Was interested in hypnotism, ventriloquism, spirituality
and stationed himself in Vizag (my grandma's town)
-a longish drive from his one-time kingdom in Orissa, Daspalla
(the hotel on the premises in Vizag's named after it, and makes
the best dosas in town, i can tell ya).

That's also in the Eastern Ghaats
- lands where Lord Jagannath's worshipped,
the harbour-town from where goods are shipped out and so on.

Helped to set up the local Jagannath temple, became the President of the
Ramakrishna Mission, Vizag
Went on occasional evening drives to vendors of newspapers, juices, gadgets
and mags.
Had a number of shikar-stories from the olden days
With his feet on a moodah (the same one on which one stood at age four-plus
shouting vote-for-Congruss),
he'd tell us stories
of beats and bisons, jungles, bullets and pythons.

Later, when i'd ushered in delegations
(as i choose to describe them now).
Development-sector experts, students, professionals
people from many worlds
he'd hold forth on those very many stories
sitting in this lush Dutch bungalow
where the architecture sings syncretic glories
right here in Visakhapatnam
where i now sit and write
(am here from the village
for a day and a night or two, visiting).

He, most exceptionally,
adapted to technology.
Was certainly no mathematician or scientist
But was an avid surfer in this coastal town
chatrooms, icq, hotmail, he did astound
us
by this ability to keep in touch.

sent out new-year cards diligently designed
and embellished with personalized hand-written lines.
-an exceptional soul
in changing times!

Odes to Lord Jagannath he wrote in literary style
A whole lot of them in Oriya
that were performed during many a Jaganath Rath Yatra
-always intended to publish and to record
never did, but The Lord's been kind
the songs are famous nonetheless
amongst humankind!
(one attempted a couple of translations into the English language
but as a Shakespearean actor, he might not have taken to the meterless shine).

Was not at all amused by communists
but was enthused to find me on TV
asking for a Forest Rights Act
emailed me instantly
suggested that i should appear often
on that medium
even offered me the constituency that was once his in the distant tedium.

four years after he passed on
i did make my first trip
to his village Daspalla,
and did equip myself
with the feel
of the zeitgeist
which, to me, was the same deal
as other areas here in the eastern ghaats, to be sure
though he'd been the MP of Bhuvaneshwar.

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

I Land In The Ocean

I Land In The Ocean (and pardon the puns)

with all due respect
(a phrase that, in life, one also uses before the bench)
today i'm looking at the other suspect
of who uses such jargon

parts of our extended clan
(though don't forget, the earth's my span
for now).

khamangani:
a sort of reverential greeting
has always sounded like
come-again
to me at such meetings.
while hukum obviously
begs the question
of howcome
as heard by southie aunts
while registering
the counter-grammatical stance
that that would involve.

notwithstanding,
i stand absolved
of these niceties
and somehow manage to please
the company.

this brings me to the east india question
(the closest i've come
is the possession
and imbibement
of volumes from [yon] [the] times
of our empire's recession.
And black n white photos
from the selfsame age
that also heralded the postage
stamps
and so on).
(Its an interesting sign of the times
that some of these snaps
are back on one wall
at least
here at Fort Kurupam
- the centrifuge that plays the drum
these days).
Oh my!
Oh, me?!

anyway, having wished people on their registered birthdays
i discovered a while ago
that there are ways
in which princesses could expand empire
take the entire debate
one nautch higher
with their expertise
more in the region
of growing trees
and grassroots, please,
as far as democracy goes.
now we're on our toes
watching the Indian Ocean
craning our necks,
looking out for fisherfolk, sea urchins, all subjects
of the tiara and the arc
placid times, pacific spark.

the nitty-gritty
and devil's details
might be well understood
by those in veils
while simultaneously
cooking up a storm
for complicated recipes
that might be their daily norm
before making it
to the dining-table:
we'll row our boats
to where we're able.

this shall be negotiated peacefully
on multi tracks
just remember that chinese healers
aren't exactly quacks
(and neither are we)
not even when it comes
to democracy!

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Waka Waka

Waka Waka

Talking of my worldpeace project
(the self-styled one, lest you forget)
yesterday i watched the cardinal of manila
bein' interviewed on the tella.

while he was answering questions
quite astutely
displaying an intention
to be progressive
championing rights
quite impressive
already.

nevertheless
it behoves one to mention
that the questions asked
were bang on target
i'm sure even Margaret
(from the days of Maggie)
would've agreed
'tis time to rein in
this breed.

which brings me to my other alma mater
not the catholic school
(you phools) wink emoticon
but the church of england-
-my college (where i gained a bit of knowledge)
-Stephen's.

The point being made
is that it's about time
for the non-pagan world
to call a spade a spade:
while it might be high science to say
that mary was true in her own way
'tis quite another matter
to force one's will
on populations
to not take the pill
or use rubber
or whatever.
(As they apparently do in the Philippines
But not in India and elsewhere, those philistines!)

And on top of that
to force
the flock
to not divorce.
-Chilling.

so since we already have
a whole lot of global conversation/s
on state/s of nation/s
and opinions
in the books of human rights
-figuratively speaking.

its now possible for the so-called
christian world
to come together
and recognize the realm/s
Of Darkness Visible.

that's outer-space to you:
-UV rays and spectrum, broadband and the lectern/s
from which natural resources are debated.

how these arguments play out
would then be a good shout-out
to the administrative world
to do its job
without fear or fervour.

This too shall pass
into the swirled tinsel-way:
we're humans.
human rights are in our DNA

And these corrections might be made
by a greenish thought
in a greenish shade.

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Lads

Lads

hear, hear, all ya crowd
zoomin' in
to proclaim loud
once again
one's views on a governmental scheme
which only serves
to feed a team:

its called
LADS
its here in india
(egad, egad)
(as in cringe, cringe)

- all it does is
push to the fringe
all the work
meant for a legislator
while the holder of the seat
invests all their time and energy, goodwill and zeal
to oversee
the doling out of moolah
(legally, with criteria, and transparently)
for works be done
in the micro region
for
what
the state administration should be doin':

led by proper consultations
- also known
as
effective local government
is what should be happening
instead.

a small road here, a bridge there, or a culvert that might need repair.
these are the things that this scheme entails
keeping legislatures occupied with micro trails.

justified mainly by the honest MPs (and MLAs)
who need to stay in touch
with the people
without spending money
even if nobody's being selective
or getting predictive
about who gets these little contracts.

On two counts, i've always rejected this scheme:
it's the first big hindrance to pushing the local government theme
plus
when it comes to within
political parties
it puts the
sitting member
at an odd sort of advantage
over other types of candidates
who speak to and for the mass
but whose troops cannot afford
to be the volunteer class.

time to do away
with the Local Area Development Scheme!

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Of Garb

From a recent Facebook post of mine...and posted here to mark International Women's Day.

Of Garb

oh well
it seems to be
world women's day
and so i feel obliged to say
a thing or two
on this forum
without much thought
or, for that matter, decorum
since i could spout these lines
in all states of theme and dream
defined by choices
made
that might appear extreme
to some.

there's this word that's been echoing around
mindsets, mindsets
-the rallies abound.
and that's the Mindset
-the centrepiece
across races, climes and gods:
humans' attitudes
towards their bods.

scientifically (and non-judgementally) speaking
bodies are shells
with no subjective value/s attached
to how they're thought of, looked at, or, you know, watched.

However, when these things start to infringe
upon the body's movements, its comfort and things
such as violation of its space and parts
-that's when societies start
to play their role.

In the areas where i live and roam
i've (since childhood), seen people, not far from my home
walking around in scanty cloth
both men and women
-without a thought.
no divine elevation of any gender
-just matter-of-fact weather-defender-like
clothing.

One has seen this transform over the decades
to a need for garments over time
primarily to counter and to meet
the influx of the industrial fleet.

alas, that inescapable middle-class
(of which, no doubt, one has been a part
-On certain counts)
calls the shots
for what's normal to wear.
(meanwhile
the poorest and richest have sartorial notes and elements to compare
-thankfully).
(Of which, too, one is a part:
Rankfully, the people's princess
and field marshall
of one's thoughts):

why does the wearing of revealing clothes
by people
cause people
to be offended
in modern society?

Because,
net-net
it also implies
that if a person
is (even if beyond the person's will)
titillated
by the other's presence
-then what?
Then, the extraneous power equation
between the two individuals
plays out.

This tacit understanding
dictates how people dress.
And if its the Market
that determines your address,
then it had better be one
that supports attire
that relegates male chauvinism
to the appropriate pyre.

But now to talk
non-cynically
of aspects
of some
so-called tribal societies
and attitudes towards
sex:

not bought, but free and fair
(read Paraja, there's an English translation),
then compare
the situation with those
who struggle
for jobs
to get married
so that they can have sex
even if it means adding to the population
in a largely overpopulated-by-human-beings-world.

Hasn't the planet arrived at an impasse
where its time to raise a glass
(and a policy-structure)
in favour
of the non-reproducing class
Especially when a likely side-effect
would be a safer world
for the rest of the mass?

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

East Calcutta Wetlands, written on 17th May, 2002

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Greetings on the occasion of World Wetlands Day!

Today, i choose to upload a poem i wrote after having made a field visit to the East Calcutta Wetlands, then on the outskirts of Calcutta, as a part of a workshop connected to India's National Biodiversity Strategy and Action Plan-making process.

This was emailed to colleagues, and i now share it on this blog. Enjoy!

EAST CALCUTTA WETLANDS

Casting about for conversation
I vote in
Fish.
Fancy lights and fashion
Chandeliers and passion
Reflect, deflect
The river and the glass.
Clink, drink and make no haste
Here unfolds the tale
of this repast.

Fish and mustard
Macher jhol
Cooked to perfection
Bowl for bowl.
Fresh and juicy
Caught this evening.
Well caught, well caught
Well, you could sneak a peek

Why, where are they found?
Where do they swim?
Which creek?
(Visions of crystalline blue,
I'll wager,
Danced past those feasting eyes.
Charmed assembly lines of carp
                            and other fins
Swished and swam
past bulrushes
beneath rainbows
then obligingly into a shimmering net
perhaps a can.)

About to shoot an illusion
I rope in
Facts.
Fish-food and nutrients
Possible traces of pollutants
Chew, eschew
The water and the sewage.
Think, link and bridge the gap.
Recycled nutrients
From crap to crap.
Acres and acres
Four feet deep.
Cultivating fish
Often losing sleep.
Gaurd-houses on stilts
Bamboo watch towers
Murky silence neath murky stars.

Well, you could sneak a peek
Why, i'll stick to the menue*
Glad they recycle nutrients
Far from this venue.

*(sic)

by V. Shruti Devi, written 2002.

3rd Feb., N.B.: One edit made by way of the *

Note for readers

The environmental fantasy, Creatures of the Current, that i wrote in 1999, and that was on this blog for a few years, is now off the blog, and is an eBook on Kindle, Amazon.
Do surf to it!
More writings on this blog soon.

Cheers,
-shruti


From V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Book of Radiations

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

much-hyped sacred geometry
so-called multi-dimensional shapes
expand, contract, disperse
fusion
fission
and then some.

gems in the lotus
buildings on fire
and smoke in the air.

airplanes join the no-fly zone
theories
of who, why, where

there's a spaceship
out
beyond the heliosphere
or somewhere
about to leak
into another beyond.

sa re gamma
hai accha?

are the aliens talking to us again
perhaps those
with that vision
can discern things
in the spectrum
- the broadbad
one alluded to
~ 17 yrs ago.
[a cycle in a kalachakra]

that {spectrum}
and spirulina
and sungazing
alternative energy

this present
i sit here
with my aerial view of treetops
{the movie Avataar comes close}

time to spin
some more yarns
retrospective butterfly-like
and monarch.
and mind-controlled.
like all creatures

here somewhere near the silk route
{fourteen years of earthly exile
could have led
the peripatetic/s
this far.
-the Buddha.}
and inter-galactics deeper

in search of crystals, plastic, anything, nothing
this might be the highly-evolved
garbage dump of the galaxies
housing a zillion creatures
that were all once gadgets
that have morphed
into DIYs

no incinerators
and so
the garden of even
pre-earthly frequencies
abounds

a possible explanation
for why
the aliens
might want to contact us soon.
and also for why
now.

is that what science and the law of karma etc.
are doing.
a football, a planet, a star-system

bend it.
that's
geometry.

chakras generate matter
high frequencies
of thoughtwaves
resound
and convert
to pulsating microns
orsomesuchthing
and the earthlab thrives.

what thinkest thou
and thine?

Web

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Have launched
a new website
into
orbit.

www.shrutidevi.in

To read, to forward,
and to spiral back
if you please.

Specimens of Synchronicity

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

i wish 

to imagine

that

meteors

of aeons ago

brought us here

from 

everywhere

which might be

nowhere.

scientifically captured

waves of light

and force-fields

and other energies

- we became 

Human.

Sort of.

Compressed in our cell-data

rest memories

transmitted

galaxy-wide

at the least.

A Cause.

Multiple effects

at multiple places.

Coincidental action.

The theory of synchronicity

creating waves

of increduility.

And so we worship rocks.

From mountain to mountain.

From dish-antennaed peacock-tails

to drone-birds of the here-and-where.

i am that specimen

that dreams 

of being

the logical princess 

of the galaxy

for these 

and other reasons.

The supreme intelligence

and its share

of eccentric planets.

Keeping traditions

alive,

m'lords, m'ladies and all other concoctions.

With great respect,

no doubt.

Peace.

Avataars

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Avataars is the title i've just given, (right now, in 2014!), to this poem that i wrote in 1998 (on the 20th of November around the time of the Leonid meteor showers).

Heard and dreamt of Meteor Showers
And waited for the storm
which did not reach.
Not here.
But they say
"There's another round
of madness
on it's way.
Be there.
Meanwhile, gaze at the serene purple
Of a safe and hollow night..."
I'll float on starlight yet
and dart as heaven darts
In the cunning guise
Of elemental beings...
But Heaven cannot hide for long
Nor don strange mantles for sport that does not end.

-shruti

A Short Play entitled No Interpretation Required

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

This is my poetry website. But in a small departure form the normal, i'm posting here, today, a short play i wrote about two years ago, broadly based on real-life.

No Interpretation Required
A short play by V. Shruti Devi

No Interpretation Required: A short play by V. Shruti Devi

Characters: An Australian man, Mark, in his late forties who is a musician; An Indian woman, Ruby, in her late thirties who is an activist; Seven cricket commentators; A group of cricket players

Scene: Half the stage is visible. A badly-lit, untidy room somewhere outside Brisbane. An old desktop computer is half-buried in the mess. Crumpled clothes, books, music equipment and a funky coffee mug dot the cramped space. An Oz guy, Mark, with a guitar is slouched on a beanbag.

Mark: (to the audience): You asking me? Yeah, its true. Everything I’d ever heard about India -and hadn’t- its all real. I’m not much of a tourist. Naah. Didn’t go to the Taj Mahal. Or anywhere. I just took a good look around. Woke up late, walked down the street outside the door. Took the message of my song with me. They liked it. (He stands up, hums what might be the song, starts walking around a bit) Asked em to spread the word. About our coal. Asked them not to buy it. That was the refrain. And played my guitar in a place or two. Drank some coffee, met some –people-. Rejoiced. Came back home to Australia. Back to working on my song. Need to start taking my music around the place. It’s five her time. Skype today.

(Mark goes to his computer, brings the screen to life. You hear the familiar sounds of logging in and the ringing tone of Skype Chat. The other half of the stage lights up. General bright lights for the entire stage from now on. You see an Indian girl, Ruby, in her late thirties in a room that has low-lying cane furniture, bamboo floormats and large floor cushions with colourful Indian patterns. She is hurriedly adjusting her hair at the front of a small mirror set in a handcrafted frame that’s hanging on a wall. She hears the Skype ring and goes to her laptop computer that’s lying on the floor, and settles down for a chat).

Ruby: Heyyy

Mark: Hi there, Ruby. How are you?

Ruby: Whatever. What’s up? What’s been going on?

Mark: Nothing, really. Been working on my song. Went for a swim. Got some stuff coming up.

Ruby: Ah.

Mark: And you? You been busy?

Ruby: Kind of. Assorted stuff.

Mark: What? Too many chocolates?

Ruby: THERE! See! Tell me, are you a mind-reader?

Mark: No.

Ruby: And you said you‘re not a spy. You’re a shrink, right? My latest theory is that you’re a hypnotist.

Mark: I’m not a shrink…maybe a bush psychologist….

Ruby: Ya, ya, you said that before. Haha.

Mark: Did I tell you that when I was in India?

Ruby: No. Never mind. What else?

Mark: Lets see. I’m going next week to the Lands. Doing a show with my aboriginal friends.

Ruby: When am I going to meet them?

Mark: Ya, so the show. The music’s a bit like the stuff you heard on the Turluku album. I told you about the album?

Ruby: Are you testing my memory now?

Mark: Your hair is looking really nice.

Ruby: (animatedly) Oh thanks. It’s quite long, needs a trim. You should’ve seen it in the eighties, cut in curly steps and then there was the blunt, and then the ethnic look, I know ethnic is politically incorrect, but here its just a style statement, and do you remember pumping curls? No you wouldn’t, it was the last thing I needed, but you know me (Mark feebly tries to interrupt with “No, I don’t”), I decided that pumping curls was it, and then the pinned up look and the Hawaiian hairband.

Mark: This is good. I like this tone of yours.

Ruby: Your hair is quite long, why do you wear that cap all the time?

Mark: I don’t know, it’s just a cap I wear.

Ruby: It’s not fair that you can see me but I can’t see you.

Mark: It’s really expensive to get a webcam.

Ruby: Ya, ya, you said that before. I didn’t expect to ever hear from you after you left for Australia, you know.

Mark: Now, this is nothing to do with being strategic, is it?

Ruby: The only strategic bits are the detective bits: you know, wondering whether you’re not just a singer-songwriter, but all sorts of other things.

Mark: Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I’m just not your James Bond kind of secret agent character that you want me to be. This comes up in our conversations every time we chat.

Ruby: You’re just a regular guy? (silence) Hmmm. Oh, well…So when are you coming to India again?

Mark: Er.. I, I’m quite – I’ve got a lot of things to do and…I really need to find my stage legs first. I’m planning to travel with my new music. But I don’t know where that’ll be.

Ruby: You do know that India is the Place in the World right now, don’t you? Or we could meet in south-east Asia. No, no, too many Tsunamis there… It would be good to meet again?

Mark: Yes, I wouldn’t mind spending some time with the likes of you.

Ruby: Are you a detective? Or a channel?

Mark: What kind of channel?

Ruby: The spiritual kind.

Mark: No, no I don’t really know too much about the auras and the chankras. How’s the mantra yelling going?

Ruby: See!!! How could you be that insightful? Why did you call it mantra yelling? You could’ve tried to patent the phrase if it wasn’t for the minor political incorrectness.

Mark: Haha. Did I tell you the story about the black horse that my grandpa wanted his grand-daughter to have?

Ruby: About a hundred times.

Mark: And the one about the illegitimate child who might be a half-sibling?

Ruby: Not again.

Mark: You remember I told you how I went for a swim and I was the only adult in a pool full of children?

Ruby: Yes, and about how you went for a funeral in a Hawaiian shirt.

Mark: Ah yes, did I tell you that one?

Ruby: So you ARE a shrink?

Mark: No.

Ruby: Ok.

Mark: I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch lately, but I’m happy to keep the friendship going and the occasional skype chat.

Ruby: Do you always quote people you talk to? Verbatim? You’re mirroring me, I just don’t know whether you’re doing it consciously or not.

Mark: About us, the distance is beginning to wear out on me.

Ruby: It’s not like anyone’s inviting me to Australia for a holiday. I’m not going to invite myself over.

Mark: Is that a saree you’re wearing? Is it a traditional one?

Ruby: No, it’s a normal saree.

Mark: I wouldn’t know the difference. We don’t get to see sarees in Australia everyday.

Ruby: I wouldn’t have guessed.

Mark: See, there’s a cultural mismatch.

Ruby: Haha.

Mark: I think I’ll allow you to go now. It’s getting late here.

Ruby: Bye….

Two years later: Scene: Teams playing a cricket match. A large part of the stage is the cricket field, with players playing cricket in slow motion. Focus on a series of cricket commentators dressed in attires of various cricketing and non-cricketing nations.

Multi-accented Commentators: (Begin with a murmur of cricket-commentary related cacophony including words like runs, overs, bat, ball, batsman, pitch, stadium, umpire, six runs, four, drive, pull, hook, slip, keeper, stumps, gloves, pads, seams, grass, boundary, lineup, injuries, tea break that rises to a crescendo, following which voices of individual commentators can be discerned).

Commentator (British accent):  A marvelous, sunny day here at the Eden Gardens….

Commentator (Australian accent): …yes, and just the right amount of bounce…the medium pacers would do nicely for a few more overs, no spin doctors, from the looks of it….

Comentator (Sub-continental accent): Ha ha, and the fast bowlers are likely to make a comeback closer to dusk.

Commentator (European accent): I ask, once again, what is this Fine Leg? No, no, no, no, you do not understand, we need a cricketing revolution in the EU.

Commentator (American accent): Eeeeew! Too many mosquitoes dudes. Swing it out, swing it out! I have a dream that one day, there shall be cricket.

Commentator (African accent): A hundred years later, maybe. You got a problem, buddy. You not dancing to no good tune.

Commentator (Chinese accent): Lalalalala long; We got a little song; Wickets and bats and cricketing hats and markets make the world go round.

(All the commentators now repeat their individual lines simultaneously and in song to the tune of the sports theme song This Time for Africa. The actors who were playing cricket start dancing and singing with assorted folk and tribal dance steps from across the world, as they all exit or as the curtain falls, they all end the song with the line: “A cultural mismatch? Who said that? What’s that” Echoes.)

Of Revolutions

Posting a thrice-published poem here today. i wrote this in my last year of school, and it was first published in a supplement of the Times of India, followed by a leftist newsletter, and then in The Stephanian in my first year of college. It begins with a reference to the colour lilac...if you scroll down to the poem that i've posted just before this one (called Exotic Transition and written in 1990), there is a nice continuity.

Of Revolutions (written on 18th April, 1989).

The lilac mist evaporates

to let the blazing mixture

of the heavens

reign supreme.

And the earth bows down

and is content,

For it approves

of this consistency of events

as they repeat themselves

in systematic succession

with an air

of time-tested perfection.

Then, a strange day arrives

with a different strain

and stranger hues

and shatters all

that once held sway.

The alien storm

uproots the old

and that past perfection

is made to appear

incomplete and erroneous

and is made to fade away

into obsolescence.

And Mankind finds

that the world must change

and that it holds no place

for those who cling on.

And the loss is great.

but what is gained

is greater still.

                                 By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

                             

Exotic Transition

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Here's a poem from my collection of writings in the 1980s and '90s. This one's called Exotic Transition, and i was reminded of it because it's about the colour purple, one that suddenly seems to be in vogue now. This was written on the 4th of January, 1990.

Exotic Transition

Mauve mellow breezes

drifted into time

And cast a net of purple shades

From earth's deepest purple caves

to the ultra-violet skyline.

Lavender-perfumed moonlight

caught the amethyst eyes of a swan

as it moved on

in the river of wine.

It was the reign

of the colour divine.

It could kill and it could thrill

the heart and soul of man.

And so it came,

the purple time.

And man wondered

whether it was dawn or dusk.

It was dusk.

It was dawn.

The new would come

The old would be gone

---

                                                                  - V. Shruti Devi

Canvasses

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)


Somewhere
Between idea/s
And depiction.
No claims
to hindered skills.
Just art.
Dashes of light
to amuse
with.
Click on the link, then blink.
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151637643257028.1073741825.650792027&type=1&l=bd22e704a4

Drink the Light

Fort Kurupam 2012 (written on 24th October, 2012)

Return from Viswanathapuram
Vijaya Dashami

Breathe into earthen cup
The Dasara moon
swirls
in the Earl Grey.

Solar systems
Pranayam
And it disperses
into galaxies

Drums and the dancing moon
Flux
As i drink the light.

Then write.


By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

Limtum

Written on 1st Nov., 2004
Found that clear pool
tucked amid the hills.
Clarity
and darting fish
where a green deep
feeds a clamouring curent.
Waded through water,
staff in hand.
Slithering stones
and a brainful
of stories
of flashfloods.
A cloudburst
on the hilltop
would have me flailing and faltering
on the altering 'scape.
Preserve this, I say,
for me to replay.
Who?
A one-time wader
Yet no invader
- there's life across this brook
to meet, greet.
Limtum, then.
A culvert for that beat.

Weavers' Street 08

On a spin
step in
to looms.
Floor to sunken floor
Ribs and arms, wood.
Walls sprout hooks, embed rods
Person pushes pedals, bars
on counted thread,
girl deftly flings the spool
and gets it right.
Flesh and stone, teak and bone,
Organic.
(Written on 6th Dec., 2008)

Nirnayalu

Neeku, naaku, prati aaku.
prati aaku, prati panta
prati panta, prati vanta, prati manta
meeda cheyudaaniki nirnayam
eppudu wochestaadi
aa udayam?

(i wrote this in 004. It is a verse that wonders when the dawn that enables you and me to make decisions over crops, leaves, food and fires will break.)

Causes

People's rights
to Land
in a mess.
Pretentions to solve
wouldn’t absolve
of hypocracy.

Causes for discourses
on mineral resources
Abundant.
Siting to citing;
river-bed or death-bed.
Rationalization
points
towards
Nationalization.
We’re still watching….

18th Jan., '09

A Journey

15th Jan, 2009 (about ’08)

Nasik
and the surging
waters
-ashes
transported.

Thereafter,
steep climb
for mortals.
Stairway
to Kapaaleshwar
equivalent
to having
toured
twelve spots of light
of which two
were
in the vicinity
-a radius
of a few hours
as wheels roll….

Triyambakeshwar, Grishneshwar
Aurangabad.
Once, touched three stones-
the mudra,
disc jockey of the world.

Ellora
-masses
of stone and dirt
transformed.

A miniature Taj with variations
-Bibi Ka Maqbara
not macabre
as the name might suggest.

ROOKERY

Many-shaded squares on a durrie
Coalition-era chess mat
Hop-scotch the talk
Pitthoo ban gaya
everyone’s game
Kho kho gaya
Catch and blame
Kabaadi wallahs wheel their carts
Rocket launchers gather parts
Spokes and tyres
Dying fires
O to be an ember
And not a flame

Formulae

Picture-perfect
resolutions
On and off
-the records.
Olympian grit
the tooth
of the matter.
Victories wrought
from more things
than this world
ordinarily
dreams of.

Puri On My Mind

Big wheels are turning
by the shore today
Hands pull chains
The Saalwood moves
Leaves
Issues
Non-timber forest produce
Trees of yore.
The DNA of a peahen
might
Run through these feathers
Unruffled.
An island breeze
swirls in,
and brackishness
harbours rare species
aqua-guarded
by the mind’s lagoons.
Remembering
the poet
on a moonless night
Purna Chandra
on his celestial journey
this day
would write
-seize the light

dappled

succour

for

the masses

plights

of fancy

and other-wise

the collective

the noun

and a barn

or well,

a book, a note, a flick, a vote

- flickers

of light

discerned

Of doormats and flying carpets

O pressed flower
what status
quo
is this.
Generations
inherit pages
-lettered, seemingly unfettered-
Volumes
bear down
and keep you as you are.
-Bound
to be.
-Keep on the bonnet
And stay with the sonnet-
The buzz has set some free
to trample the air, board a wishing chair
to seas and creeks
and deeper notions

Borra Caves

shimmering walls
the mind unwinds forms
from stalactites, stalagmites
silicon glistens
to the swinging torchlight
which was a mashaal
three decades gone

ladderways
connect old pitfalls
deities reside in stone
light streams in from above
thousands surge in to worship
-on one day,
not charged by the powers that be
-free.

auspicious yellow
trickles past,
handed out
to women from beyond
the cordon.

the sound of bats,
-an overheard cluster
and honeycombs.

Outside,
the Gosthani flows and seeps
partly imitated
by a railway track.
Inside,
a giant seam of stone
has clicked the jigsaw
into place
for the moment
which is
a few hundred years

Spotted

Poachers
of delicacies in wine
Their Delinquencies
-ambassadors
of the fluffies.
Self-appointed
peerers
through tints of scarlet
(tinctures from ravaged hutments)
juggling hats and plumes
floating in bubbles
spewing
conservation priorities
and perfumes.
Fanciful insights,
marketable bytes,
Mangling contexts,
colouring texts.

From a vantage point: Eliot's Beach on 26th Jan

spray paint
by the sea
-psychedelic perch.
long-tailed kites
parallel the sand
-a mid-air zone.
scattered below:
vendors, spenders,
pakoda time.
roots, berries, nuts
shaken, garnished
-multitudes frolick
neath a tricolour
untarnished.

Who's Who

Jalebis
-lessons
in fries, cartels.
Spirals
-prices, priceless fumes
Sinks
-the notion's carbon:
untold, unfold
Criss-crossing ways
-hunters, gatherers
Stalk,
Exchange.
Land for paper, water for steel
Heavy Metal
-no combo meal

007: odds and ends

rang in with a bang
party hopping: 1-2-3
and a 2nd round.
restoration, rennovation
relatives
and the Republic
-tri-coloured fare
preceded a ten-thousand strong affair
-and there hangs a thread.

over-ruled
under-estimated
talked about
and debated.
Curly scripts
-another one crawls,
can read more lettering
on remote walls.

fitness fad
bone-to-bone
machines and metal
-honing.
retaining the edge
-resisting cloning.

reconnected.
went wireless.
also peered into the relentless
perches
of now wigless
fantasy.

star-spangled baithak
-a galaxy-view.
diversification.
consensus.
holding ground.

decisions and time
crafted
into non-events, saunter through
expertly unclaimed
unacclaimed, perhaps even awaited

a bird's word

Rare stakes
endangered passions
buffered zones.
the heat is up
there's eider down.
Glasses clink.
Peers
through chinks
and raises
to dispel the masses....
(Tickled by some pickled wits
exotic strays lose charming ways
-now turned to wolves
and generate loathing.)

non-conventional energy

Today
makes it.
Enrolment
w.e.f.
ten years ago.
First, at the bar
Racing, pacing
Supreme theme.
Precedents, collars
coats, then dollars.
Subsequently,
Crafting, drafting- ejusdem generis.
Appearances.
AIRS and cases,
glorified sharks- Noscitur a sociis
Cut to
the wilderness
-sanctuaries,
parks.
People's voices
the choice is
pre-meditated- ut res magis valeat quam pereat.
Chamber-practice-analyst-teacher-
Which is the undefining feature
-can't be serious
about
expressio unius est exclusio alterius.
Lawyers all,
bound to hammer out some lines
to mark the passage of such times.
Assurances
a decade
not decayed
m' lads and lassies
leave ye all
to pontificate
about
Contemporanea expositio est fortissima in lege.

stick flick

Taps into
pools
of wishful thinking
of the collective consciousness.
Fresh as groundwater
(-waves of cyanide, fluoride and other activity
recede in this bubble).
Seamless weaving of textures
fabricates a vision.
Some sold out...
we watch from the ground
-chhabees rupaiyah, tax deducted
packed.
Evolving strategies
Registering a swansong
of a Chanakya.

circulars in motion

The starkness visible
-luminaries
on one, two, three
and other Hidden Acts.
-see how they run
straight into the finishing line
chasing after unclear crumbs
-their tales chopped off
with the eagle's splice.
Except
there's a nation behind.
Changing track...
From nursery prints
to finer print
From iambic
to vent-a-meter
Pent up and gone
Or step-by-step.
Lunar eclipses
herald rebirth
-A sickle-moon
rising.

AGOG: The Week

sponge-soft idlis,
dosas flipped up, flying from the pan,
crisp as red lace
and other idylls.

keep up with the weights
from gym to Gym
heavy, light or feather
with garb to get trim.

Venuses in transit:
from the world of hospitality,
after an extended gap
-updated files: of rolled chapattis and talking styles.
then a siren
from a glossy world
-the schedule a mystery, the day, a whirl.
and finally, an alternative fox
some preoccupations: jackals, monkeys
-edged away from the box.

meantime,
another toast
to a gang of girls
is raised as a flag unfurls.

snatches

22nd July, 07
Rainbow
-the quintessential arch
notions of hidden gold
buried deep
in the seeds of a storm

Waterfall
Clearing, clambering
boulders
tangled shade
brooks some moss
-diversity.
Intrepid it would sound
or to the disbelieving, fabricated.

Foothills
Hill-brooms, womens’ craft
Hairstyles, pineapples,
Fashion statements
Value added
Vroom
Through fields and ponds
To pots of water
buried in the ground
A form of drip irrigation
Challenges the imagination

Ascent
To the cloudy range
Home-like.
-Connection.
Testers, feelers, plus-points, thoughts
On that day of the invincible Juggernaut.


























.

Off-shore

Cross currents pull swimmers down
The lighthouse waves
-beaming, lets them go

A depression over the bay
A cyclone over the shore
Victory at sea

-Rainbows from oil slicks
-Mined, the sand.
Quaint, the myth

A monkey’s burning tail
sizzled in these waters,
turned the shore murky.

In another aftermath,
’roaches roamed
-From baygone
to survivors of the bygone

(the epitaph to which read:
they took the bait
hook, line and aye aye mate)

6th July, '07

heat wave

Degrees
Of affinity, movement
On paper, in ether
and on board
Measure for measure
-text to some
elsewhere, a peg, an inch
and sometimes
a corporator.
Dealt out, nuanced
And the heat is on
Non-egalitarian,
it sifts and burns.
Banished rays
Conditioners
Planets transit
-the world's astray
Variant degrees
pull it away

the village rises

Circuits
Light up paths
House-fulls
of guests.
The Gramadevata's summerfest.
Nine urns for the twists and turns
of the lanes that wind through the foothills
A unique spirit binds us all
-from the swords of power to the plough that tills.
Current institutions, contemporary culture
Justified manifestations
-the Past the filter.
From each according to their capacity
-their mite.
Legends, mediums, beats of drums
Not to be dispossessed
The Cosmos is
this osmosis.

perceptions

From fine print
and words on Tao
back
to fiction.
Trod the Red Carpet
to southern lore
-liked-
the style, selection of themes
and the cultural stance of the narrator.
Would read more.
Had stowed away Nadine
-went through the palette
of her masterpiece
marvelled at the subtle shifts of narrative
-raced on, tanned by late hours, maybe fading light
captured by the sunbathers of Tamarisk bay!
And then a book with thick pages, hard-bound
nice colours, large font
never heard of it
but tossed it into the basket at an annual sale
Turned out to be interesting
-a tale of immigrant farmers who also work in mines;
the little girl wants to be a teacher;
ends up being a mill-worker;
life, with the usual phenomenon of unlikely
or at least inconspicuous
scenes
remaining etched
in memory
-the book as the viewer recalls it....

April's Frills or An Interlude

Landed well before 'twas dark
And rushed off for a walk to the park
Then hurried to dress up for a family function
Where the ancient and modern might be in conjunction
Methinks the contrast was strikingly stark

Another day was a tossed-up mix
Of shopping, mourning and salad tricks.
Marvelled at the gracious mourners
Later, raised a toast to worldly sojourners
-Talked of veils and worship, of what crashes, what clicks

Dragged resident spooks to the thespians' ground
Djinns, nostalgia, riots, music did abound
Alas, i'd bought tickets to the farthest benches
Three hours or more, watched from the trenches
Just as well that it was ear-shattering sound

Hurtling past, a global village stops
Flying by a flyway, lots of shops
Reminiscent of the enchanted woods
Folk from faraway lands with goods
Except that it's by a river-bank with crops.

Forest ladies walk this town
Some wave the quill, some wear the gown
In solidarity with their counterparts
Seeking remedies, toppling applecarts
Causing some to cheer and others to frown

UP IN THE AIR or HUNG ASSEMBLY

Infusions.
In the air
or in kettles
Shoals to the bait
-Whiffs
-Whips
and diffusions.
Sprays of mist
and tales that twist
to a brand new line
-Ensemble de Confusion

loadshedding

Boiling points
power cuts
turkey, turnkey
melt.
Sweltering
crucible
smattering of tongues
words bubble to the brim.
Posted, roasted, grilled, toasted.
Static crackles
cutting edge through sizzlers in the air.

cricket today

baleful
wicketless
over and out.
no cup.

no knowing what's shielded
as questions are fielded
on the other side of the boundary.

and the squad of trumps
down in the dumps
in the wake of hype
and designer yarns

technically in
but otherwise gone....
unless... bermuda's shots
and just one slip
between the cup and the homeward ship

applique

patchwork
trendy worlds
stitch by stitch
counterpane
fibrous mix
the roughage
the adage
the check-in cabbage.

races with a finish line
ribbons with a cutting edge
zigzag by these highways.

other vacuums:
reined-in strays
seek desperate validation
of present ways.

Surround Sound

voyage
into the unknown
007.
-scapes:
land and liquid
airborne, ether.
inbound, outbound
neutron dance.
scrutinize microbes
telescope stars.
prevail, unveil
emit.