The Lord

Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,
Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.

Far away from the hustling life of the big cities, I was in a bus, on my way to some small remote village in Konkan. I was sitting by an open window in the last row of that nearly vacant bus, watching trees pass by in speed. The blurred view of the young green leaves going past in a split second was pleasant. It had just started getting dimmer outside. Sweet warm light rays of the orange setting sun were intermittently piercing through the trees, ballooning the pupils in my brown irises for a moment. Outside there was a slight scent of wet soil in the wind. It was rushing in through the window to me, bringing stories of the past, as if it was excited to meet a long lost friend after so much of patient waiting. Felt like it had just showered.

and then I thought of him.

I remember. His funeral. I was there. Sitting on a rock at a distance, looking down blankly at the earth between my feet. I could feel the bleak warmth of the fire hitting in waves on me. It was fierce, ruthlessly taking the last remains of his body buried beneath the burning pyre to nowhere. The air was solemn, and was filled with a dark void of dejection.

He was around twenty years older than me. A man with a kind heart. The ways in which he used to make the people around him burst in laughter, the ways in which he used to magically spark his surroundings, it is just unexplainable. He carried that little world full of enchanting happiness with him and being a part of that world was a pure joy in itself. I thought of him as the last guy I knew who could get hit by the misery of life. But lately I hadn't seen much of him, I was getting past my teenage years with all the thoughts and questions. Now I can imagine the inner crisis he must had been through that he silently succumbed to it. Don't know who is to blame. Is it the society or was it him? One evening, I heard he was in coma with no turning back. That had to happen. I visited the hospital in hesitation before they decided to cut off those tubes. He was lying on that white bed in white clothes; motionless. I stood there for a minute in confusion and in silence, looking through the glass window, knowing that it was the last time. What else could I have done to wave the final goodbye?

I don't believe in the afterlife and the other improbable things. I wish I did. If somehow it does exist, I would love to see him there. I would love to ask him how he has been doing all these years. I would love to hear his heartfelt laughter, I almost hear it now in my mind. Wont ask him if it was a deliberately planned inaction which led to his death, they say it was a slow suicide. Wont even ask him why. Will just make him do those antics he used to do to make us laugh when we were kids. Just once.

and the bus started to loose its speed gradually as the village was getting closer. After smoothly taking turns after turns in the low light of the fallen dusk, the engine went silent, vibrations ceased and the bus stopped; but I couldn't.

पारवा

भिंत खचली कलथून खांब गेला

जुनी पडकी उद्ध्वस्त धर्मशाला

तिच्या कौलारी बसुनि पारवा तो

खिन्न नीरस एकांतगीत गातो

सूर्य मध्यान्ही उभा राहे

घार मंडळ त्याभवती घालताहे

पक्षी पानांच्या शांत सावल्यांत

सुखे साखरझोपेत पेंगतात.

तुला नाही परि हौस उडायाची

गोड हिरव्या झुबक्यात दडायाची

उष्ण झळ्या बाहेर तापतात

गीतनिद्रा तव आंत अखंडित

चित्त किंवा तव कोवळ्या विखारे

दुखतेखुपते का सांग सांग बा रे

तुला काही जगतात नको मान

गोड गावे मग भान हे कुठून

झोप सौख्यानंदात मानवाची

पुरी क्षणही कोठून टिकायाची

दुःखनिद्रे निद्रिस्त बुध्दराज

करूणगीते घुमवीत जगी आज.

दुःखनिद्रा ती आज तुला लागे

तुझे जगही निद्रिस्त तुझ्या संगे

फिरे माझ्या जगतात उष्ण वारे

तुला त्याचे भानही नसे बा रे.

- बालकवी

I don't exactly remember when and in which class this poem was part of a syllabus for Marathi but surprisingly despite of its eclipsed mood, it brings out the most cherished memories of those years. During that age I am sure I wasn't capable to understand this dark, scorching piece of poetry, perhaps I never had time to understand it when our heads were buried in trying to 'impress' the newcomer girl in the class, experimenting with the wonders of our newly discovered physical features and talking about it the next day in school during lunchbreak, planning and playing cricket after the school, figuring out new methodologies on how to surreptitiously sneak out of those samosa, lassi and chinese stalls without having to pay. Now it seems, it wasn't that much about the money, indeed it was something about the high! that sweet high of successful sneak-out! The most amazing young kids you had around yourself during those times, they might not remain the same now in their grown up physical bodies just like that innocent little boy in yourself is lost somewhere in the process of growing up and sometimes unknowingly you might not feel that much of a connection with them now, alas. 

Anyway, coming back to the poem. It's a strange time of my life that I came across this poem once again after all the years[I love saying this phrase like an old man covered with white beard, sitting by the bay, talking about his younger days!]. Here is an unpolished and loose translation of this beautiful composition. How badly I want you to know what it means, how badly my friend.

the wall is damaged and the pillar, collapsed
the old ruined shattered monastery
on the roof of which that bird is sitting
and singing a mournful lonely song

the sun is shining fiercely in the noon
up in the air, a black kite is flying in circles around it
and in the calm shadows of leaves
other birds are enjoying a peaceful siesta

but you don't fancy flying high
neither these cozy green shrubs
a torrid wind is blowing outside
and deep inside, this ceaseless trance of aria

please, please, please, tell me, where the hurt is
you don't want any recognition in the world
so where does such a sweet song comes from?

blissful sleep of the human
how will it last even for a split second?
melancholic morose sleeping Buddha
echoing songs of dejection round and round

that dejection, that gloom, hits you today
your world, drowned in sorrows with you
an arid, scorching wind is storming my life
and how oblivious my friend, you are about it.

- Balkavi (Tryambak Bapuji Thombre)

Well, the fourth stanza has only three lines translated. Couldn't translate the context in which the first is penned down. but anyway, I hope I didn't damage the sheer beauty of it while trying to translate. This is a precious feeling, rediscovering what went missing years ago.

-     What do you really want in your life? till u die? any dreams?

*    There are. but I've given up pursuing them. if one day they come true, they will loose the beauty, the meaning, the urge. ill start dreaming other dreams and chase and so on. The ends of the circle will never meet. just like that french philosopher said.

-     But why do you want the ends of the circle to meet?

*    Won't that be another kind of Nirvana if those ends meet before you die? I think that kind of satisfaction is something those who give up everything are chasing behind.

-    So that's another dream you've got there! to make those ends meet! but you will never reach there, since you've given up chasing your dreams! such a classical piece of deadlock but only till the day you die and then everything ends with your brain!

*   but sometimes I still doubt Buddha. was he genuinely at peace the day he died? didn't he have any regrets, guilt or demons in his head? any amends to make?

-   You are lost in your head man. too many unrelated thoughts like spaghetti. why are you so confused always?

*    yeaa maybe. do you remember that drunk guy asking us! what's the difference between animals and us humans? I think the answer as they say is free will. we can think but the saddest part is we don't know how to. or is there an old world monkey who can drown himself in sorrow, feel the deepest wave of depression and still laugh to make things bearable?  as Nietzsche said "Perhaps I know best why it is man alone who laughs; he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter."

-     and?

*    and what?

-    what is the point you are tying to make?

*    I'm just saying stop fucking my brain and go to sleep.

The Raven That Refused to Sing

Being in a small wooden hall for that tiny part of your insignificant existence, with the loudest sound you can imagine drilling your ears and the guy in front of you, whose songs have been tormenting and soothing that 1.4 kg something world inside your skull, is something you should do at least once before bidding farewell to your earthly body. It literally was a pilgrimage.

Sound of the newest album is as gloomy and dark just like it's title, as it fucking should be.