Who's after Daniel?

The rack that speaks of
Glorious Past in the royal halls
vowed to celibacy, the trustworthy guards,
The replacement to the king's neglect
The only solace to the extremely desperate.

The Ethiopian of great authority
Under the Candace Queen
Receiving the gospel from Philip,
baptized
went his way rejoicing.

The only time history speaks of his joy.

Ashpenaz
in the courts of the King of Babylon
watched over the blemishless children of Judah
countenance glowing with divine conviction
flourished with knowledge and skill
blessed in all learning and wisdom
Unarmed victors amidst magicians and astrologers
masked as Beltheshazar, Shadrach, Mishach and Abed-nego
and with all secrets sealed

Should Daniel be the last patronised hero?

24 August 2007
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Confirm and Reconfirm – Just to be sure!

My thoughtful friend Alan, the winking follower of this blog, dropped in one evening after many years. Obviously a lot had changed or so I thought. He looked very different from the person I remember going to school with.

We grew up in a school where everyone knew everyone and hardly anyone outside of it, except the names of President, Prime Minister and the Chief Minister. So our school friends and their siblings were almost like our extended families. Even today, if any of my school friends bumped into each other in any part of the world, we could continue a conversation from where we last left.

After exchanging pleasantries, Alan mentioned it was his youngest brother’s birthday. I responded with a delightful, “Oh! That’s wonderful. Wish Michael Angelo a Happy Birthday on my behalf”, Alan’s eyes rolled to the side and had a confused look but managed to keep a straight face. Given his long silence, I eventually sensed something was not right, so I wanted to confirm with him, “It’s your younger brother Michael Angelo’s birthday right?” OK so Alan’s younger brother’s name was not ‘Michael’ Angelo and it wasn’t his birthday either. It was his youngest brother’s birthday. Bad enough I didn’t remember Avon, I 'had' to confirm, and I ‘had’ to ask, “You have one more brother?", Alan confirmed and was once again getting comfortable, regaining his former self until I wanted to reconfirm with, “Are you sure?”

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For a moment I felt like a relic

One day, two little girls aged seven and six knocked on my door. Being the youngest in the colony, the elder kids usually avoided playing with them. That afternoon, they came around knocking every flat to ‘check’ where the other kids were ‘hiding’. Since I, in my late twenties, was all by myself, they were willing to be gracious enough to play with me if I let them in.

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The moment they stepped in, they were fascinated by the sight of an hour-glass. To cut the story short, I told them that people in the olden days used it instead of a 'watch'. I should have said, ‘Clock’. Befitting her age the seven year old promptly asked me in a dragging tune, “Is this what you used when you were in school?"

Cinderella's shoes

When life was all about

what no one wanted to hear

eyes dreamed.

Feet groped.

Dawn bored.

Reflection remained a shadow

without a face

Life weighed heavy

waiting to break

Crude hope drew away

Imminent despair made its way.

When all second chances

were thought to be exhausted,

Will conquered reason

Made ‘Fairy Godmother’ appear

even within walls

where no one could hear.

Shoes could find their soles

covering the misery yet untold

With a pumpkin for a chariot set to roll

What rat would not take to its feet

over scraps of cheese

passing off as noble steed.

Charm of a misfit

will always catch the attention

of prying eyes

While rags in riches will linger

as long as the curfew does not mind.

Sneak-peak at life’s reward

does not last long

whereas the truth about life

lies in the shoes held-on.

The curfew breaks

when the pumpkin begins to show

that it was always a pumpkin

and nothing more

Now that the cheese is done

What rat would stay behind

and that’s when the clock strikes midnight.

Dazzled by what life can offer

In exchange to a simple dare

Too dazed to realize

a hidden shoe is incomplete

without its pair,

revokes the old life back

with twice the worries

to care.

The hunters on the prowl

Are more merciful than the shoe

Letting even the finest half-wit

Try it.

Wriggle in it,

Squirm to fit.

Every shoe will meet its occasion!

Then,

there will be shoes for every occasion!!

Flats.

Kitten heels.

Stilettos.

Truth is, what is good for the highs

is good for the lows

As for the secret of your journey

the ‘secret of success’

Only your shoes know.

finished on 8 September 2009

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All is fair while shopping

It’s pulsating every time I’m in the heart of the city. This time I remain focused and am determined to stick to the list. Just to make sure I get a decent dingy corner to park my scooter, I skip breakfast. So, by the time I come out of the alley, food stalls are warming up with steaming idlis and dosas - not my favourites anyway. I keep walking as the shops slowly wake up until one of them unveils the greatest temptress of all – S-I-L-K. Pleated like the palm leaves, the sight of silk drives me straight through the glass door. The white stuffed ramp is all set for the holy diva-wear to glisten under the white lights. And the show begins…

Quite marvelous, how a five and a half metre material can be bound by a piece of white twine. I pick red for a start, a colour that usually stands out on a rack. The shopkeeper gently unfastens the twine only to flaunt the weaver’s prowess. I then pick maroon, and then orange, and then yellow, and then… take it from me… every sari is a breathtaking performance. Thoroughly drenched in temptation, I try one sari after another to check if the sari gets the better of me, or if the sari complements me. Right now, with so many shades I’m convinced that the weaver is a crude prankster.

Buying a sari is no common shopping. There is more to buying a sari than merely paying the price on the tag. You have to win a battle. While I am lost in the rainbow I feel a tug while the very sari I’m holding is flowing out of my hand. Two women, oblivious to my existence, snatch the sari out of my hand. So typical! What seemed like an endless ordeal, in a split second made me decide that these women were stealing ‘my sari’. I knew I was outnumbered but numbers don’t make an army. There was a tug of war right in front of the eyes of the nonchalant shopkeeper. After a series of rude exchanges the ‘wise Solomon’ realized that I finally made my pick and declared me the ‘Victor’. With great pride I paid my bill and walked out with my prized possession.

As I manage finally to find my scooter, I wait…baffled…Did I even set out to buy a sari!?!

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Medley

Inhale

the aroma of exotic dishes

the fumes from the cremation fields;

the fragrance of flowers in the garden

and the smoke from the crimson streets.

Lose the music sheets

Old tunes evoke memories

Rehearsals numb.

Don’t name the symphony

it is ours

we take the euphony back to where it came from

we take it home.

The aroma was from our kitchen

The fumes from our ancestral fields

But the smoke from the crimson streets

Harass the fragrance of existence.

21 November 2007

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from Carbon to Crystal

Beneath layers,

each eventually calloused

burdened with heaviness

lies protected the coveted carbon.

Light years later, the black boots arrive

dig through the hardened piles

opening the wounds healed by time.

Long after the fire tamed

and the warmth forgotten

fresh flames merely polish carbon

to shine like crystal.

3 February 2007

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