The Muse

The sheer variety of symbols and artefacts in use across the ages and geographies does not necessarily point to a multitude of assumptions and values from which they spring. The study of mythology and folklore then, is a reverse approach to anthropology. This blog is dedicated to my favourite symbols, tales and artefacts - both ancient and contemporary.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

A VERSatile Term

It all began with the SIP. Was the process as random as it was touted to be? I pondered about it. Finally, I came to the conclusion that...for all that I can say or do, I’ll get what life drifts my way. But in spite of that I’ve a boat to float, and distant lands to explore...
The Drift
A boat to float, an axe to grind,
Some taken, some left behind,
For all that I can do or say,
I’ll only get what comes my way,
Both truths I have to reconcile,
And not get stuck in life’s turnstile

One fine HRP class, the day we were taught the R & S plan; my attention flickered for the first time with dangerous intensity... Soon I was dreaming of Vikram Seth’s Frog... Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks, Insults or complaints or bricks...
Dwarfed by the Drivel
Drips, feathers, and thumbscrew leathers,
Putrid words and two-pronged swords,
And all the things that get the soul to shrivel,
Are all outdone, they’re dwarfed by the drivel.

The next class... Induction & placement... I was suddenly reminded of Prof. Prithviraj H. Soni...
Faulty Faucet
Filled frustum with a faulty faucet,
Lynches lustre from a lucky locket,
Pious plea from the profoundest pocket,
Requests release from this reeking racket.

The same class, different rhythm... Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak... In response to the gassy ppt.
Global Action Strategy
Idle thoughts will leave no trace,
Little substance, too much space,
What head or heart or soul divine,
Can tolerate such gimmickry?

The Equivocator
Kiss the snake and smooch the frog,
Feed the swine and slay the hog,
Put even Janus to such shame,
That he resorts to heresy.

The aforementioned person’s  response to mid-term feedback...
Six score people and three more,
Take the cue and fuel uproar,
Poor old dusty rusty James,
Dances merrily on the flames.

Then I woke up after the ad hoc fast I observed in honour of the completion of PMIR batch placements; I felt weak (a hitherto unobserved occurrence in my experiences with fasting), so I had needed a nap. The next day I missed my beloved repository of poetry and assorted class notes (a really handy notepad along with a notepad and pen holder). I searched high, I searched low... alas! It was gone...
Syllables weep and letters cry,
Words fall dumb and ideas die,
Grief for those who are now long gone,
Puts those expected on standby.

They died not from the cold without, but from the cold within... And so I pondered about the true source of my hatred and suffering...
The Cold Within
Hated icons sting the eye,
Torture eardrums, neurons fry,
But seeking source, I come to find,
Not the cold without, but the heat behind.

Mad at the loss of my random limerick rhymes, I clutched at their fast disappearing remnants...
Water In My Cupped Hands
Rhythms of my past ruminations,
Echoes and odd emanations,
Balderdashy exclamations,
Lost to my lamentations.

Succession Plan... I drifted to the fall of the Angel Castiel. But the poem was completed in the first AFM guest lecture.
Decadent lanes in cities plagued,
More from devices than vices base,
The entrails, limbs and life blood suffer,
From the tortuous traitorous train of thoughts.

These three directly followed Vagus, on the same occasion.
Blind faith
Rosy hues turn into the colours of gore,
Veils vanish between the morrow and yore,
When doubtful fire melts not the wax of sin,
The wick burns out; there is darkness galore

Take a look beyond the veil,
Where voices die & letters fail,
What mortal heart not made of stone,
Can be so averse to verity?

Unheard Tales
Floating leaves on a silent stream,
Pass their lives in equal silence,
The world cares not for their silent scream,
But turns away in deafening silence.

The day that culminated in SIP wetnite... A highly productive and successful day... Another trio
Brainless Rapture
Amos wounded by his own shaft,
Had set his eyes on Psyche,
So when we began the HRP draft,
We traded brains with a monkey.

An ode to my dear friend Aditya Gupta...
The sage Kashyapa had two wives,
Diti & Aditi – with two lives,
One brought forth demons, the other gods,
One ate snails, the other gastropods.

জাতে মাতাল তালে ঠিক,
যে না ভজে তারে ধিক, 
পিতা সম পালে প্রজা,
নিয়ত কিন্তু নহে সজা

And then I wrote a few verses of purely academic nature, till one day the “poetic attack” grinded to a halt...
Claviceps purpurea
Rocking candies, fluffy clouds,
Seeing music, tasting shrouds,
Whatever infected my sweet prose,
Feasted also on my poetry.

Saddened by the demise of my VERSatility, I sat next to Ruchika, out in the open, after the Law exam, to pen down my least favourite pieces...
For Amrit, the Sworn Enemy of Verse
My friend Amrit, he hates a rhyme,
And I worship all verse sublime,
To make him mad, and ruin his day,
I sent these five lines his way:

“Each word that makes a verse,
Each beat that makes a rhythm,
Every crystal that is not amorphous,
Is an illusion of order
In a universe destined to chaos.”

Ode to Lucifer and the First Born
When Lilith raised her lone head,
And did not to her equal succumb,
She left us both wiser and dead,
And left Utopia to the dumb.

Because it is in hunger that we seek the truth,
It is in bareness that we weave its semblance,
It is in the depths that we are cleansed the most,
And it is the bringer of light who keeps us from eternal darkness.

As an afterthought, I wrote an alternative, rhyming version of the second stanza, which reads like this:

Because only the hungry can succour find,
Only the wounded can heal their kind,
Only the depths can truly scour,
And the bringer of light keep us from the dooming hour.

Since I’d just written a law exam, I asked myself if crime paid or not. I decided that it did.
Scot free
Eaten sugar, told lies,
Given very bad advice,
Done every offence in the book,
Look dad! I’m still off the hook!

And then I thought of free will, and the debate on its existence...
The Marionettes
One by tail, the other by horn,
Sowed the kernel, reaped the corn,
Reduced all creation to finger puppets,
Alas! Found to oneself strings attached.

Epilogue: The lost notepad was found (this post wouldn’t have been possible otherwise), and I await my last exam, expecting a last spark of such productivity. All words fail to express my love and gratitude towards my friends (and to those who have unknowingly or unwillingly benefitted me), for making this term so awesome.

PS: When in doubt, remember G for God, G for Google