Fickle.

Fickle

Darling, this is something you should know about me,

Befitting the romantic fool that I am.

That day I wanted to be,

A morning runner.

I loved the dull pain that would stray to

My ears and temple after the icy air

Bit me as I ran. I was never quick enough;

The wind laughed at me sarcastically,everywhere.

Another day dawned when I decided to be

A portrait artist.

Every face I looked at was an enigma in its

Own right, and several times my brittle

Pencil broke. Soon the thick creamy paper was

Covered in smiles, both smudged and noncommittal.

Under a pale summer sky I thought I'd make a good

Star gazer.

I could just stand there and sigh, at the laughable

Insignificance of the sparkly pebbles they called

Diamonds .Even in my deep frenzy I was frustrated;

I cried in the light of the day,waiting for darkness to fall.

On a rainy afternoon i wrote a poem and hoped I could be

A writer.

I dreamed of telling stories that were true and titillating 

And penning poems that would sing impassioned.

So I wrote, till my fingers bled and my soul bled harder,

In naked fervour. Then I fell asleep sweaty and drained.

Over the years I tried, a mountaineer, a historian, a Prima Donna, a cat-rescuer, a deep-sea diver.

People mocked my flimsy resolve, you may too.

Would it suffice if I said, that the only thing I've stuck with,

Is You?

Angry River

Angry River

The Angry River

Hungrier than ever.

Tip-toes into the sleepy unsuspecting town.

The Lost Boy scurries

Down the hill barefoot and buries

Himself under the plumes of her billowing gown.

The Angry River

Bleeding from a black fever

Ambushes the neurotic priestess amidst her prayer.

The crumbled shrine lies tortured

Over wretched bodies and souls, interrupted

In the offerings of faith to their failed savior.

The Angry River

There wasnt enough room for her.

She felt bruised and lonely and deprived.

Then the mountains melted

And Rain and Snow and Stones were pelted 

At her. She stretched out her cramped legs and cried.

And then I died.

And then I died

I sought the comfort of your eyes 

Desperately, only to catch them petrified.

I watched those lights swimming in brown go out 

Abruptly, one by one. And then I died.

You bought me paper roses, who's bland 

Crimson I did not fancy and brusquely shoved aside.

Then the lights switched to green and I heard the

Faintest rustle of those lifeless flowers. And then I died.

You laid your hand on mine while everything outside 

Drowned in pools of chaos. Tentatively I turned to my side 

As needles of blinding gold pricked through my half-shut eyes and

Your fingers clenched, interlocked with mine. And then I died.

You said we'd always be together, and I never wanted to be

Woken from our personal, cliched trance. Terrified,

You cried out my name, covering me in vain as the brakes 

Screeched and the evening sky cracked. And then I died.

The Beatles and India

   Indian music, has no doubt been one of the most influential, evolved species of music in the world, especially on its classical front. I was watching this German movie, 'Run Lola Run', and it came as a pleasant surprise to me when the background score at the climax, rose to a typical 'Aalaap' in a common Hindustani raga. It was no coincidence that the iconic act The Beatles, were often compelled to add that Indian zing to their songs. 

   George Harrison started, as early as 1965, by writing three songs that featured in their albums." We were waiting to shoot the scene in the restaurant when the guy gets thrown in the soup and there were a few Indian musicians playing in the background. I remember picking up the sitar and trying to hold it and thinking, 'This is a funny sound.' It was an incidental thing, but somewhere down the line I began to hear Ravi Shankar's name." George Harrison, 1992, about the making of the 1965 movie, 'Help'. Well, we know what happened next, he developed a strong affinity to the sitar. Later that year, he recorded 'Norweigian Wood' for 'Rubber Soul'. However, Norwegian Wood wasn't the first Beatles release to feature a sitar. The North American version of the Help! album featured an instrumental, called Another Hard Day's Night; a medley of A Hard Day's Night, Can't Buy Me Love and I Should Have Known Better performed on a sitar, tablas, flute and finger cymbals. Influenced by Hindustani classical music, Harrison wrote 'Love you to' for 'Revolver' and of course, 'Within you without you' for Sgt. Pepper's. Though the former was hailed as a 'filler' track, it has a unique beauty. Listen for the sitar strains following 'You don't get time to hang a sign on me-e-ee'    Then there was the Maharshi Mahesh Yogi episode. After a brief interaction with him during a lecture in Wales, in 1968, The Beatles traveled to Rishikesh, India, to attend the Transcendental Meditation course, headed by Maharshi Mahesh Yogi. "John and George were going to Rishikesh with the idea that this might be some huge spiritual lift-off and they might never come back if Maharishi told them some really amazing thing. Well, being a little bit pragmatic, I thought in my own mind, I'll give it a month, then if I really really like it, I'll come back and organise to go out there for good, but I won't go on this 'I may never come back' thing."- McCartney. The course consisted of lectures where the students would describe their spiritual experiences with the Maharshi answering their questions. John and George were especially dedicated, they spent long hours in intense meditation.

 During this period there resulted some remarkable songs. Most of the White Album was written. John wrote 'Dear Prudence' for a fellow student Prudence, while 'The continuing story of Bungalow Bill' was written about a certain 'Jungle Jim' who used to take breaks to shoot tigers, combined with Buffalo Bill.

In  'I'm so tired', John wrote about his frustration from being unable to sleep( from absence of drugs)

"I'm So Tired was me, in India again. I couldn't sleep, I'm meditating all day and couldn't sleep at night. The story is that. One of my favorite tracks. I just like the sound of it, and I sing it well."-Lennon. Scottish singer Donovan, who was also at the ashram, taught John and George a style of fingerpicking his guitar, which they implemented in 'Dear Prudence' and 'Julia'

  Paul wrote 'Back in the ussr', 'Honey Pie' and 'Rocky Racoon', based on his Indian experiences(though they had little to do with the Yogi's teachings).

 For Ringo, the stay in India was short and spicy( he didnt really fancy the food), and within a fortnight he was back home. But he did write his first song 'Dont pass me by' in India. 

Paul left a month later, relatively unimpressed bu the Maharshi's prowess. John and George stayed on for another, till there emerged rumors of the Maharshi's proclaimed celibacy being mumbo-jumbo. They left abruptly, and on the way back John began writing 'Sexy Sadie'.

"John had a song he had started to write which he was singing: 'Maharishi, what have you done?' and I said, 'You can't say that, it's ridiculous.' I came up with the title of Sexy Sadie and John changed 'Maharishi' to 'Sexy Sadie'. John flew back to Yoko in England and I went to Madras and the south of India(to see Ravi Shankar) and spent another few weeks there."-Harrison. In the years to come, they would regret their hasty action and apologize to the Maharshi, while George would give the benefits of a concert to Maharshi's cause, while Ringo would say "I  feel so blessed I met the Maharishi – he gave me a mantra that no one can take away, and I still use it".

Of course The Beatles later went on to record 'Across the universe', with the chorus 'Jai Guru Deva', which is most likely a reference to the Maharshi's spiritual master. 

George Harrison, most importantly, stayed in close connection to India, following Indian music and philosophy throughout his life.

Noise

Noise

For hours I have been looking down

At this white, spotless paper. My pen will

Not oblige me by scratching a few words of sense,

My once deft fingers have lost their vigil

To the domineering throttle of doubt and

Entropy and time.

I must have run out of things to say,on this fateful 

Day I must honestly reveal, that its only

Natural that the world must be saturated

from my constant baloney.

Now I'm afraid that I impose, even with whispers,

On eyes and ears 

And hearts and minds.

These whirlpools of noise will dance across 

The universe for a million years to come.

All along I have added to them. Now my 

Callousness and confusion, I must shun.

And dissolve,

Dissolve in the shadow of silence.

Silence.

Requiem for the World

Requiem for the World

The world is over.

And now there is you and there is me.

We have time, till the end of time.

To sit with our legs dipped in this wasted river.

All the way to the bed, gliding over the smooth pebbles

Feel the tingle of this black water, stare at the ripples

Undaunted. Free from a world in which we were the only rebels.

Dust crawls on every inch of it now, golden and roasted

From the embers of the tired, dying sun.

The stars have faded too, so stealthily that we never felt

Their absence until the darkness descended when there were none.

Talk to me now, there is still time.

These shallow oceans have lost their luster, walk with

Me, on the dry flaky sand that is slowly engulfing them.

Their bleak beauty still enchants you, I know, these vast expanses

Of barren earth, with mounds of grey debris crowing them.

We reach the auburn forests, where the severed trees have weaved into a maze of thorns.

If you lose your way in this maze so heartbreakingly beautiful

I shall write you verses and inscribe them on these stones.

But if you fly too far and burst into a million bits

I will gather your remains and bring you back home.

Stay with me now, before the end of time.

Strangers in the Rain

Strangers in the Rain

We were stranded under that corrugated tin sheet

As strands of clear water hung down carelessly

From its edge. The wind loped by washing us

With icy splinters that fed on us ravenously.

The regal looking woman, clucked her polished 

Tongue and eyed us disdainfully, standing a little more straight

She rolled out an incoherent word or two, staring at

The curtain that grew more impregnable by the minute.

The tramp in his tatters, was back to his home for the night

He lit a cigarette, whistling tunelessly, shuddering

Slightly. He missed the luxury of solitude, his home had

Been invaded by the beautifully eerie pouring.

The nervous novice corporate, clutched at his belongings

Flashed at me a stoic smile, as if saying that he was late

For dinner. The scent of his cologne mingled with the 

Perfume, fresh from the rain and stale from the cigarette.

The little girl was crouched at the corner, afraid and agitated;

She'd lost her paper boats and run away from home.

The stocky mackerel cat sat curled up on the driest inches he'd

Found, purring confidently and wanting to be left alone.

I was the timid ghost of a girl, hovering in between.

Not a word was exchanged between us, spoken or

Unspoken, that night our lives intersected

Under that flimsy roof. But the sinister symphony that hurtled down

From the sky, said all that there was to be said.

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