Paternity

 

The mountains beckon

The rivers gurgle in glee
My wanton feet quicken
‘Ere they prepare to flee!

The eyes stealthily pry
For the accidental witness
That could expose my lie - but
None challenged my fitness

The relief within whistled
As the next stone landed
Near where the birds nestled
The mother left her kids stranded

I climbed the mighty tree
The tiny ones in the nest
All but belonged to me
For I had just won my quest

I peeked inside the birds’ home
When a blunt bolt hit from nowhere
I fell, my head a lightless dome
The father bird had a menacing glare!

Mrichchakatika - The origin of rotational leadership as a concept - Act 1

 Mrchchakatika – (The Little Clay Cart) - a ten-act Sanskrit drama attributed to Śūdraka, an ancient playwright who possibly lived in the 5th century CE, and identified by the prologue, as a Kshatriya king and a devotee of Lord Siva. He is believed to have lived for 100 years.

A revolutionary himself Sudraka has deviated from the Natya Shashtra that specifies that dramas should focus on the lives of the nobility. Mrchchakatika, lays emphasis on the life of people including peasants and courtesans. The story is thought to be derived from an earlier work called Cārudatta in Poverty by the playwright Bhāsa, though that work survives only in fragments.

What sets this drama apart is not only the fact that it does not portray nobility, but also its attempt at establishing the fact that nobility does not stem from social conditioning but from virtues and behavior.

Many versions of this story have been presented before, some have been taken out of context and some have been presented in a shallow, contrived manner.

Here’s a poetic adaptation of this great work, which is an attempt to bring out the true essence of the story. Presented in the style of a dance drama, Vasantasena and Charudatta’s story is the story of each one of us living in contemporary times

Act 1 – Charudatta meets Vasantasena

Mysticism surrounds the life of people long gone

We imagine, we recreate so the dead may live on

Stories untold, stories retold, stories remain the bridge

That aid our journey through the past along the ridge

 

Here's one story that may not be new to many

Of people, about their lives, serious and funny

 Lived a glorious dancer named Vasantasena in Ujjaini  

Her feet had the grace of a river her voice was honey  

 

Her dance was a feast for the art connoisseur  

Jewel in the crown was the decorated theatre  

On this day Charudatta chose to witness the dance  

 Maitreya assured him it would take them on a trance  

 

The two friends arrived rather late and the show had begun  

Charudatta persisted, he got lucky through good deeds done  

The son of an aristocratic father, he had given his wealth  

To all those fallen or fabricated sad fate through stealth  

 

His kind gesture to the theatre owner fetched them a seat  

On the stage that witnessed the grace of the dancer's feet  

Even after the men were seated the curtains refused to rise

Gloom engulfed the grace that hitherto held the audience enticed 

 

The music from the flute went silent that moonlit night

Having found its master sick, it lay on the ground in blight

Charudatta instantly picked up the lonely, lovely instrument   

Soon the dancer's feet were tapping to the melody the flute lent    

 

Ujjaini was filled with contentment, it now had a reason to cheer  

Just as the crowd stepped out, their glee was replaced with fear

The roads were blocked by the police, they had to catch the sinner

Charudatta, Maitreya escorted the dancer, their pace getting quicker    

Such is Life

 Such is life - transient in moments, permanent in memory

Such is life - tough to comprehend, easy to complicate

Such is life - evasive to the seeker, apparent to the believer

Such is life - fluid in the heart, folded in the brain!

Inheritance is Polymorphic

Inheritance

Has assumed proportions so dense.

It all began with the invisible DNA,

That defined the class, as they say!

Inheritance

Then became the impregnable fence.

Land in possession became the next object,

Before Kingship got appended to the subject!

Inheritance

Morphed itself yet again, and hence,

The family encapsulated its precious gold,

Inside iron chambers and kept it in tight hold!

Inheritance

Moved beyond the pound and pence.

Abstraction led the way to include codes,

As families were replaced by corporate abodes!

Inheritance 

I feel, may acquire a new sense.

The term may be associated to good health,

As immunity has come to be valued as true wealth!

Inheritance 

Has followed a rhythmic cadence.

And yet, has created many a discord.

This once, let there be harmony, Oh Lord!

Tryst with memory's crest

Perched on a high pedastal
Our lives is anything, but dull
The rains lash on the greens below
While the thunders, in approval, bellow

Sitting atop my humble mansion
I recount the days I had wanton fun
Splashing the firmament's kind blessing
On every passing, overburdened co-being

A wry smile, on my naughty lips floats
As nostalgia recreates my paper boats
Made out of what was held within a book
That was meant to teach us how to cook

We never learnt all that was taught
While in school, we played, we fought
The cruel clutches of life did not spare us
And we learnt our lessons, albeit after a fuss!

The Surreal Sentiment called Motherhood

“Mother,” beckoned the little voice from within her womb

The baby had, but a few more months before it would bloom

“Yes, my child,” she said as she heard her baby’s voice

“Tell me more ‘bout the world, is there too much noise?”

The mother smiled, but assured the child that she would be there

To grow and groom the baby, holding her with love and care

‘Who else would be there along with you, I am curious to know’

She told her baby that motherhood was a boat that many helped to row!

The father put his ears on the mother’s womb so he may hear his child

“I am your father, I shall care for you like no other,” his voice ever so mild!

The baby wondered, “Hmm, so you are also another mother, am I right?”

 “You are right, my love,” said the father, happy and delighted!

The grandparents, were the next to wish the child happiness and glory

And assured it that they would be ready with many a bedtime story!

The child kicked the mother in glee, wanting to see the mothers so many

“There is a little bit of mother in all of them, isn’t it funny!”

“Mother, I cannot see you, but I can feel your presence,

I float in the chamber called womb filled with liquid so dense

I do not know who you are, and yet I feel happy and well

Isn’t it a wonder that I don’t know you, because within you I dwell!”

The mother slowly began to explain to her curious child

“The bond with the creator is indeed strange,” she surmised

And as with motherhood, every life form that exhibits divinity

Brings upon the earth, peace and tranquillity!

It's a battle out there!

Its a battle out there

We lose some we win some

Not of them are fought fair

Some leave us proud, some leave us numb

Its a battle out there

We gain a few as we inch ahead

Victory or defeat, we are left bare

Oftentimes they become life's watershed

Its a battle out there

We meet people then we part

We love, we hate, we take, we share

And when we part it is with a heavy heart

 Its a battle out there

Struggle we must, that’s life

We win more, the more we dare

Lest we are left muddled in a state of trife