Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Birthday Raja, 12 Sept. 2000.

watercolour of us 7 years later.
This letter was sent to me in an email.

Harper of the wistful years
I wish you many things at once
and here are some examples
I could think up several more
but these are only samples.

May your carefully chosen date of birth
be filled with ample joy and mirth
may all things exuberant
and all feelings exultant
cling to your manic knees
may all the answers you seek
unravel like a breeze.

May all the seasons in the sun
be at your disposal
so you could choose the sky's colour
without writing a proposal.

All the perfect piano's in the world
would walk up to your door
you could take your keenest pick
and still sort out some more.

I'd sanction you a private moon
to hang atop your roof
where you could go and perch at nights
in serenity aloof
and write inane banterings
for your dreamer's eyes
scratching the midnight canvas
with your lunar lies.

May your art communicate
like the nocturne in E flat
may your ideas reverberate
(gently illuminate)
the surrounding time and space.
Touching everyone who sees them
with your beauty and grace.

I wish you a sketchbook
that's made up of light
that glows a little
with images bright
it moves at the speed of 24 frames
and plays with sight it's optical games.
May you fill it with the life
of your restless mind
its one sketchbook
that does not bind.

I wish you many clothes
and material things
at the very least a block print shirt
that a courier will bring.

I wish you a water pistol
of your experienced choice
and a musical audience
that goes with your voice.

I wish you sex and sabbath
on alternate days
and wish you exploration
of nature and her ways,
be connoisseur of food
and be exposed to many wines
and when your sufficiently above the ground
then write me random line.

I wish you miscellaneous desires
but most of all I wish you could hire
a speedboat to cross the tranquil seas
and to ride the atlantic breeze
so you could be here for a little while
and we could count the stolen miles.


Ladybug planet. 2002

you seem distressed
or is it just your winter quest?
In summertime it's spring for me
are you waiting constantly
to fill each day with things to do,
to take on adventures, face something new?
Well I am sprouting out my shoots
peeping out of my winter roots
it feels so good to see the light
hibernation is out of sight
Now I must leave my ladybug hotel
pack up my things and wander well
into the night and day
I have places to go and games to play
And leave behind my winter muse
until it finds some excuse
to catch up with me 3 seasons later
(By then I'd be ready to face another winter)
So fair thee well my queenly queen
The tannest of the tanned Madeleines
your kingdom reaches wide and far
The furthest of the furthest star
It's good sometimes to get off that throne
To visit the workers and the drones
So take off on a bicycle ride
To the closest planet on your side
And write to me of things you see
Oh Madeleine you queenly bee.


Magic book, 2001

Harper Leaf

I'm sending you this magic book
that began in feb last year
It's been a captive witness
to all my paper tears.
Fossilized in scribble dust
and splashed with Ganges spray
this book has been with me through
all the most uncertain days.
It has lain beside in on my bed
and fluttered in my hands
snoozed on coffee tables
but missed the goan sands.
It coughed up merry ink
that ran in careful patterns
as if it could think.
I'm sending you these pages
For lack of better ways
to communicate the aura
of some interesting days.
I'm still using the magic book
and there's some more to go
before it hits the dusty shelf
where all magic books go.

Madeleine Weathers

winter 2001

Madeleine to my dismay
winter has come at last to stay
And I with utmost fortitude
Am left with my lingering solitude
My mind still carries on
in monotone and steadfast song
it's full of worrisome insecure thoughts
of what might be and what might not
And so I juggle in my head
Dreams of what could be instead
Some months must pass with this disease
Until spring and then I'll be at ease.


How when where and why. 2000

Hail Harper,

Hast thou been
fairly occupied?
Hast thou had
dreams that
Hast thou been
drinking alcohol?
Has thou been
Having a ball?
Of ugly pomes
This sure is one
And now I'm
That it is done.

1. What keeps you so
miraculously far yet near
But not close enough
To buy me a beer
How have your countrymen
In entertaining Indian
2. Today I strangely submit
To the letter writing fit
Going for a wordly walk
In this manner
I shall talk.
3. It's cold and wintry
But how would you know
With your barbaric
I feel quite fine in this
empty room
with a smiling boy
and a heater.

4. As it happens I'm at work
Yet I let the danger lurk
The danger of distraction
And that is not a fraction
Of all that makes me wrong
To compose a song
for this educational pit
I must compose a hit
I'm a racehorse, so he said
If I don't win I'm dead
How can you live with such pressure
I'm no M.C Escher
Can you grant me a light
That will ensure my sight
There must be a way
To brighten up this day
So I thought I'd write
And scribble on the white
And along the way I might find
Some precious peace of mind.


III 17-2-2000

I continue to compose
Though not with virtue of prose
As you can see, my pen
Has changed the font by ten
A different writing altogether
Though I can't decide whether
It all makes any sense.

Today I shall complain
Of new agonies and pain
Of running several laps
on the face of this map
To try to get things moving
Its not unto my doing
The horror of redtape
Often makes me gape
the bureaucratic ladder
Is getting worse to badder
At every step I take
For diplomatic sake
I'm thwarted by people
who should walk off a steeple
Instead they only mumble
And continue to grumble
For God's sake I want to shoot
And I don't care 2 hoots
For your smelly tales
Of how to make things fail.

All I've done this morn
Is walk up and down
Substitute for a phone
and their lazy bones.
They smile with assurance
That's beyond my endurance.
They frown and crib in tones
Inbetween farts and groans
A rotting pack of lizards
And retired wizards.

My creativity crawls
Amidst these walls
Why else is it so hard
To write ballads
Like a bard.
I shut myself in 323
My only manner to be free
And sit here to pluck
The pansies from the muck
Occassionally I strum
the acoustic drums
And bolero resounds
In here and around
They must think I'm strange
To live within their range.
And arrogantly stride
with aesthetic pride
what thoughts that they might stew
Into a spicy brew
I cannot be certain
For their eyes look dead
And pinned into their heads
Leaving no clues or trace
Of an honest face.

Wonder how it will go
How will the future flow
I cannot wait to see
What will become of me
In the coming weeks
Some powers I will seek
To over come this place
And discover my own space.
To which I can belong
And sing it like a song.

Letter to Harper. 30 May, 1999

Downright scary solitude
This hour of the time is lewd
As you recognize your sheet
I'm telling you for once I'm beat

There is not a soul around
And I'nm so scared to make a sound
For every breath and every squeak
My tension sours into a peak.

This is me
I'm all alone
Ain't got no life
Ain't got no home.
Empty hostel in the night
Can you imagine my plight
With all the merry extra souls
All the ghosts and all the ghouls.

108 Little empty rooms,
Except for me in one of doom
I did not think I'd ever be
So scared in all eternity.

I beg thee please
Do hasten to grant release!
This is indeed a horrid time
To contemplate this beastly rhyme.

What will I do
if lizards creep
into my bed
when I'm asleep?
What will I do
if spider's tread
on my godforsaken head?
I have ten boxes in the corner
If they're alive then I'm a goner.

Guess what
I don't even have a clock
I'll have to flee
around the block
And give myself a mighty shock
In advance for there might be
Someone waiting for me
with bad make up.

Bye bye. This is the absolute end.

And so ends this letter to me from the National Institute of Design, girls hostel. (I think). Sent to me in Canada.