Shehnai

To mourn
is
to Be,
so it says.

To mourn
is
to move,
and
be moved,

to
move beyond
misery
and
be moved
by
a dear one's
moving beyond.

*-*-*

And,
thus it stood
unmoved,
on the banks
where the river swivels,
where the ash smeared Babas,
facing the orange-tinged sky,
injecting those
Civaya-Nama injections
sink into oblivion


And,
thus it stood,
unmoved,
on those
dusty neat footsteps
which staged
a zillion gazillion
dramas of death.


Those very footsteps
where its master
took her
on his arms.

onto
his graceful arms,
she remained,
like a pepper stem
whirled across
trellises.

Everytime,
On those
first taste of touch,
On those
first clearing of throat,
On those
first RagaDharbaris, and
Shivaranjanis,
She wept.

And her tears
swept the city
clean,
an ethereal
collapse of
space onto time,
and time
onto the timeless.

Pondering
on the timeless,
depersonalized
in his leaving beyond,
it stood
still,
Unmoved.

And thought
of the time,
where the player
and the played,
the maestro
and the mastered,
mourned in unison,
the rhythm of Benares.

(To Bismillah)

Suchness

Dearest,

days move by with increasing intensity.
intensity, not out of 'action',
but un-action. or non-action.

alone in the Alone.
but no boredom. and no despair.

and then, an unexplainable mercy fills the heart.

no,not plain ol' vanity.
but omniscient Suchness,

Suchness.

there is no dukka.
all there is,
is Karuna.
unquenchable wetness.
and love.

*-*-*

the bong girl from manipal
who is trying hard to be that hippie-in-her-mind.
the sad, sad little girl trying to move beyond the burdens of her little self,
and let her hair loose.
the drunken philosophers,
who crack foucault jokes all the time.
and wondering within themselves,
why don't they ever get high!
the introspective Luddite from Germany,
tingling the beer glass and lost in deep thought,

worrying about the performance for the night,
of the shame & void that the premature creates.

all the superfluousness, the shallowness, the self-pity,

of which i would be shrewdly judgmental about,
there is none of that now.
the random chatter inside is, somehow, off.

all there is,
is pure Suchness.

the gigantic play of identities.
and their constant orchestrated negotiation,
to be the Self that they truly are.

the unconscious, ever-present
search for the unifying, coherent whole

from the fragments.

is there such a thing called a 'coherent, unifying identity'?

i dunno,

but every time,
my
eyes,
invariably,
helplessly,
become wet.

zillion life histories dawn in front of me.


Sunrise at Hampi.
Sunset at Varkala.
NYC from the top of Empire state.
Snowflakes. And crushed Coke tins.

the mountaineer whom i met at kannur.
and Appa's asthma.
the Spaniard traveling all around the world for 16 years.
and Amma's everyday crushed bus rides.
Paul Gaugin.
and Paati carrying her tamarind bag on head.

where the world
and the-other-world
meets,
there is no space, non-space and negative space,
no culture, counter-culture and a-culture,

and there is no being, non-being and un-being.

All there is,
is just,
the alone
in the Alone.

"
...
...

I try to find a way to make
all our little joys relate
without that ever-present hate
but now I know that it's to late, and...


The game of life is hard to play
I'm going to lose it anyway
the losing card I'll someday lay
so this is all I have to say


The only way to win is cheat
and lay it down before I'm beat
and to another give my seat
for that's the only painless feat


The sword of time will pierce our skins
it doesn't hurt when it begins
but as it works its way on in
the pain grows stronger...watch it grin but...


A brave man once requested me
to answer questions that are key
is it to be or not to be
and I replied 'oh why ask me?"

- N.D.

Silent Melody

Ave Maria - Schubert

From where does
Symphony 40,
or Moonlight Sonata,
or Pink Moon,
Arise?

from where does
that flower,
which blossoms
day and night,
blossom?


i want to touch that flower
and mix in its frangnance
and become the music
which arises
day and night.

but there is a river
which runs between
me
and the music
and the flower.

i could never cross the river
and touch the flower

but the flower blossoms
every day and night

and the music arise
from some unknown abyss

If you meet Nazarene on the road, Kick him

the recluse fixed up
an appointment with
the good ol' yogi
from Nazareth.

'redeem me you scum, you fukin delivery boy', recluse said

The Nazarene smiled and said,
'From where?
To where?'

recluse got angry and said,

'you fukin boorshua..
ur making spineless slaves outta ordinary men..
you and your phony preachings...
you are the fukin biggest economic hitman...
gloryfying misery and hunger and starvation.
and givin false beliefs to people
that suffering is the path to salvation..

there is no redemption
there is no salvation
there is no soul
there is no nothing..
you are a fukin CIA agent' .

He got up
and kicked the yogi.

And then went on and
wrote a book,"If you meet Nazarene on the road, Kick him!"

a practial guide on Kicking, it was even used by ManU football coach, which became a bestseller.

Nazarene smiled.
and said

'ji is us'

On How to Run Over a Calf and give an Elevator pitch in 30 seconds

the recluse became a champion in givin Elevator pitch,
and thereby
became a superstar Salesman.

he was riding his bike
thinking about writing his
next bestseller
on,
'How to give a stellar elevator pitch in 30 seconds'.

while he was deeply thinking
and thinking deeply about this impending bestseller,
a Calf strolled across the road.
the recluse ran over it
and its hind leg got caught in the wheel.
it dragged itself along with the bike
for a full 30 seconds
until the recluse pressed the brake hard.

and then,
the Calf released itself from the wheel
and walked across,
as if nothing happenned.

The onlookers were puzzled.

the recluse,
thus,
got Enlightened.



The End.

On How To make friends and Influence people

the recluse poked and tickled Sisyphus
and stole the rock from him
and tied it to his leg.

he brought it to the town
and threatened to throw it over people,
if they refused to be his friends.

they obliged.
and thus,
he wrote the book,
a practical guide on
'How to make friends and Influence people',
which became a best-seller.

On how to stop worrying and start living

the recluse thought of writing a gloomy poem,
but gave up
laughing at the futility of writing one.
and the recluse thought of not writing a gloomy poem,
but gave up
laughing at the futility of not writing one.

it struck him that if writing one is as futile as
not writing one,
then,
why dontya hang himself!

and from there on
the recluse thought about hanging himself.
but gave up
laughing at the futility of hanging himself.
and the recluse thought of not hanging himself,
but gave up
laughing at the futility of not hanging himself.

And from thereon
he thought of writing a gloomy poem.

The Buddhist and the Backpacker

"You need to work yourself up into some kind of a state every morning and believe that you are doing something terribly important upon which the future of literature, if not the world, depends. Buddhism tells you that this is just a foolish fantasy.

So, I try not to think too much about Buddhism early in the morning. From noon on, I think about it." - Pankaj Mishra

A Book of Gaalis

My friend is going to write something called 'A Book of Gaalis'.

It is an indepth study on the ontogeny and phylogeny of 'Gaalis' and on how 'Gaalis' evolved from the Neanderthals to the Cro-Magnon to the Pleistocene to the Pre-Modern to the Modern to the Post-Modern to the Post-Post-Modern.

He says it is about the epistemology of 'cuss words' and examines the ever illuding relationship between 'Gaalis' and 'Gnosis'. Also, the humble attempt tries to interpret the ontological design behind the *being* and *becoming* of 'Gaalis'.

Heavily drawn upon concepts ranging from Heidegger's 'Dasein' and 'Throwness' to Marla Singer's 'Putness' to Michael Foucault's 'Hermeneutics of the Subject' to Julia Kristeva's 'Intersubjectivity', it tries to bringforth a framework to understand the ontology of 'Gaalis' and henceforth, the human condition(or the condition of being 'human').

He would like to extend his thanks to Prof.Jack Norton, Lucassian Professor of Philosophy,Economics & Drudgery & honorable Chair of the Saponify Center for Advanced Studies at Fincher School of Business, Ann Arbor and to Prof.Tyler Burden, Professor of Bio-Chemistry, Chair of Raymond.K.Hassel Center for Alternate Psychotheraphy at Palahniuk School of Medicine and co-founder of 'CounterCulture LLC' (private equity spinoff of Bukowski Corp., Bay Area, CA) for their constant support, guidance and inspiration. He would like to dedicate this book to them.

Since the author of the book is not contended with *mere* theoritical approaches, he has also tried to seamlessly move beyond the realm of *theories* and plunged into the spheres of practice as well. Each chapter has this no-holds-barred attempt on throwing "Gaalis' at his friends, relatives, the people they knew and other such losers. Watch out!

*-*-*

Excerpts from the book

Chaper 6

Do I give you the ass or the crotch? - A question of Etiquette
An Ontological Study

His name is Patel.
but people call him Pattu
and you can call him Pony boy.

he was the roomie
whose life I made miserable
and thus,
I became
the Rumi.

Pattu would be Jesus,.
if god had a really nasty sense of humour,,
or a tumour in the balls

Now. Cut-to-the-chase.

Pattu is a pig, ney he is a cow.
an ugly fat two headed cow.
You think that is a joke. NO . Pattu is a joke.
Pattu thinks bats are like cows,

Pussy cow Pattu
MOO MOO Pattu


Pattuisms:


"I dont smaaake ... I only rooll"

"You knaaawwww.. in raichur it snows ...its sooooo caallllldd...
you have to wear eskimo suit all the time...
raichur is taller than the himalayas..."

"i cant waaaalk aaaand smaake man.,its naat good to waaalk and smaaake..."

"aaaaimmm a leoo.....leoos are lioooooooons...
I aaaaaaam naaaaaaaaat a GUUJJJU"

" if u daant smoke up u are no moore my fraand!
old time sake maan "

" capris are very cannning,,,very calculating,
you maaatherfaaaking capri"


" heeey machha,
chaaek aaaout maaah saaide baarns.
daaant i look jaaast like Sandy(Sandeep Shenoy)...
I aaam jaast laaaike hisss twaain saaaister"

"you pastard"

"aam naat draaank.....i caan draive ma baaaaaike...zzum bolke ..zup bolke..
naaonee caan drive faaster thaaan meee" (and a chic in scooty overtakes..)

" pleaaase daaaant hit me on the haaaeddd..
i daaant likee it...
it iss very soft and delicate
come macccchaaa give my haaedd some haeeed"

"You knoooowww.. in ramakrishna they milk the cows with music.
they plaay music cause their own calfs sing this music"

"Madrassi hogaaaa tera baap!!"

" You knowww ... its written on the road (the road next to 5th block going down to haunted house) that BEWARE HINDUS WE WILL KILL YOU ALLLLLL....
i swear i know perfect kannada.."

"Laaaaaaast MAAAAAAAAN sTANNNNNDING......
WAAAAAAAAAAH"

*-*-*

Releasing this July!