Madness?

When a man sits in a city faraway, as faraway as the other side of the planet, and worries about Woody Guthrie, sings a few songs of his he knows, and also feels he has to read some classic; goes to the nearest bookshop picks up A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT and hardly three pages done, he feels he has to write this.

He then connects this to a singer and how he visits his legend Woody in the asylum, much publicized since a few decades, now dying out, mentions it to his colleague, inquiring if he himself isn't mad?

The response is "thank god! At least you know!"

The man wonders, "Is it madness to acknowledge madness?"

We paint the mornings

I go to sleep early because I know I have to wake up early. It is a routine. The child inside me craves for some company which is of my own kinds. But more importantly, my morning chore also involves clearing out my stomach. I wait to get up as soon as the dark is over plus perhaps there is a clock inside me which compels me to. Almost every time I have to lick my man, and if need be, I have to lick on his face, and sometimes I even have to push him with force. He then disappears for a while and is back strangely full of life, even though I don’t care much about it.

He takes me to a place where I see people, many people, I think they are different people doing different things. The big highway next to which I walk is full of speeding vehicles noise, but what attracts me most is the other dogs. I will not tell about all but I can tell of some I met today and meet often. Bingo, same breed as me, was a friend, we used to play for a good while till we both would get tired, but now strangely he comes to bite me. I have been bitten deep in wounds by him. Otherwise he is a good dog, he lets me and I let him go our own ways. I guess he has his life, I have mine.

Laiger is another lab but he is elder, and likes to act that way or something, everytime I try to sniff his butt, he barks at me full of warnings. He is otherwise interested in playing with stray dogs who are around in a plenty. I cannot play with strays because somehow they don’t like me and I have been bitten a couple of times by them as well. Lucifer is a week stray bitch, and too has been bitten. She now lives in the municipal park protected by its restaurant owners who have a little portion on lease. They feed Lucifer, so they must protect her, the neighborhood residents have warned. Now she looks unbitten mostly but she isn't attractive. None of us talk to her much. I want to play with other dogs who come here to spray like me too, but their masters won’t let them off the leash. But something new has to happen and recently, I have found Coby, a six month boxer who is a pup, and is same height as me. We now tirelessly play in the same garden.

I haven’t see Porshee for a while, they say she is a golden retriever, and trust me, me, Bingo, Laiger, Coby, we all say, wow what a bitch.

We love the smell of the place, and we all spray the country road, and most of these mornings are one of the most beautiful things to be in. I wish someone could paint them on canvas too.

Woof woofed in behalf of -
Banjo
(Also pronounced by other people as Benjoo, Banzoe, Bunjoe, VanGo and so on)

ooo
O

Some pat songs say it all

The patriotic sprit of the Indian Union has countless songs, with mostly having melodies unbeatable. Even Bollywood contributing in early sixties or seventies, tough to remember could be eighties, songs like -

आएँ हैं तूफ़ान से कश्ती निकाल के, इस देश को रखना मेरे बच्चों संभाल के...

Literally, which means that – “kids, we have just rescued this boat out of storm, now it is your turn to keep this country safe...”

Reminds me of an another patriotic Bollywood song -

छोड़ो कल की बातें, कल की बात पुरानी. नया दौर है लिखेंगे मिल कर नई कहानी, हम हिन्दुस्तानी..

Leave the talks of yesterday, they are by gone. It’s a new age, together we shall write some new stories, we Indians…

***

I am inside an air conditioned car which suddenly has to stop. I pull down my window, and outside see a helluv a lot of traffic noise, lots of smoke, and hazy evening sky. People are scrambling onto each other with their scooters, bikes, tempos, and exectra. In reality, only a few wanting to scramble out first, dominoing other’s anxiety. Pedestrians are walking in between too. Car drivers add to the effect by shouting loud, with their one elbow and neck sticking out of their windows; their expression of anger. It is like almost one stage before a riot.

Since the car is struck, one has all the time in the world to witness a formal gathering in the front yard of a semi-commercial semi-residential property banking the road side . A few citizens wearing Gandhi topis are sipping chai, relishing it, and a pale yellow cloth banner near them, through the sulphur haze says, ‘Shahid divas’ (Martryrs day). I see the clock in the car, it says 23^rd march 2010. While the loudspeaker blares clearly out of all this cacophony, I pull up my car’s windows, and still the song would filter through, perhaps more clearer now.

कर चले हम जान वतन साथियों, अब तुम्हारे हवाले ये वतन साथियों…

Translated to English would reveal,

Friends, we have given our lives for the country, now it is up to you...

I had penn'd

Sometime back, a few words came strong in head. As follows:

No space one could gather,
better dead than dud,
realism and fiction live together,
out of anger,
hopes, and what not all.