I am not what you name me
For you've named me before my birth!
As Althusser says
Forcing me into subjecthood,
Thus we are already subjects
In ideology;
By hailing you create me
An Indian, Hindu, Brahmin, Malayali..!
But is that me? Is that all?
Thursday 1 December 2011
Thursday 29 September 2011
To Get Hacked By Hands That Don't Sow
Why do you wait for somebody's call to start
When you have your own call from inside to hark?
Why do you hesitate to act on time sans brooding
Expecting someone to come asking you for it?
When it rains why do you shut inside your home
And when it snows why do you hurry sunward?
During the fall why do you grieve your soul
And hope to not unleave any day in your life?
Man! just free yourself from such angst
To witness how the seed becomes the tree
And the tree turns into some dense woods
Only to get hacked by hands that don't sow!
When you have your own call from inside to hark?
Why do you hesitate to act on time sans brooding
Expecting someone to come asking you for it?
When it rains why do you shut inside your home
And when it snows why do you hurry sunward?
During the fall why do you grieve your soul
And hope to not unleave any day in your life?
Man! just free yourself from such angst
To witness how the seed becomes the tree
And the tree turns into some dense woods
Only to get hacked by hands that don't sow!
AVisit to the Temple and the Street Dogs
It was drizzling when he walked
Through the narrow lanes that took him
To the roadside temple where vegetable vendors
Sat on the footpath, frequented by skinny children
Their sunken eyes, bulging tummies and bare bodies
Raising ashen thoughts in him as the bells began chiming.
When the visitors placed currency notes on the silver plate
He could hear the poojari chanting Ram! Ram!
And find him blessing them with freshly cut plantain fruits,
Tulsi leaves besmeared with sandalwood paste
All rolled in a piece of the shining green leaf
From the bundles kept inside, collected from the field.
Coming out of the temple, sitting in the roadside cafe
Glancing through the headlines of the day's newspaper
He wondered at the iron resolve of old man Anna Hazare
To remain in Tihar and continue with his declared fast
To stop corruption at high places where eagles flew
Protecting them those stood under their wings sans protesting!
Street dogs came and met him at the cafe's door
Waving their tails, ears kept closed and expecting
At least a crumb of bread from his hands
That gently patted on their heads and directed them
To follow him to the adjacent bakery and to patiently wait
For a full block of bread and a packet of dog biscuits!
Through the narrow lanes that took him
To the roadside temple where vegetable vendors
Sat on the footpath, frequented by skinny children
Their sunken eyes, bulging tummies and bare bodies
Raising ashen thoughts in him as the bells began chiming.
When the visitors placed currency notes on the silver plate
He could hear the poojari chanting Ram! Ram!
And find him blessing them with freshly cut plantain fruits,
Tulsi leaves besmeared with sandalwood paste
All rolled in a piece of the shining green leaf
From the bundles kept inside, collected from the field.
Coming out of the temple, sitting in the roadside cafe
Glancing through the headlines of the day's newspaper
He wondered at the iron resolve of old man Anna Hazare
To remain in Tihar and continue with his declared fast
To stop corruption at high places where eagles flew
Protecting them those stood under their wings sans protesting!
Street dogs came and met him at the cafe's door
Waving their tails, ears kept closed and expecting
At least a crumb of bread from his hands
That gently patted on their heads and directed them
To follow him to the adjacent bakery and to patiently wait
For a full block of bread and a packet of dog biscuits!
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