I am the quintessential introvert There was a time I had my social spurts But all that seems like a lifetime ago The Corona gave that spacetime a blow
I absolutely love my solitude When I say ‘Leave me be’ I’m not being rude It’s just the way I’m internally wired Too much nodding and smiling just makes me tired
That’s not to say that I spurn the cliche Of the Island that No Man Is I’m just more prone to proverbs that sweep Through Still Waters that tend to Run Deep
And now I’m on the back foot yet again By that adage I didn’t mean I’m a Brain An Einstein, a Galileo or an Edison (Well .. maybe a tad like A. Tennyson)
Dear reader I’m the embodiment of reserve I don’t seek adulation that is undeserved But even as I spin this meter and rhyme I think every enterprising poet doth have her time
In the shining confluence of our universe Of writers, and scribblers, masters of verse But since I’m the quintessential introvert I’ll tell my tales from my quiet corner on earth
Still, if by some providential twist of fate Some of you think that my writing’s first rate Know that I still love my solitude I’ll thank ye kindly and then I’ll respectfully brood.
To those who are blissfully wed, may no ones words or odes tear you asunder; to those who are still unshackled, forewarned is forearmed; to those who are in blissless contractual unions, here’s more food to ruminate, ponder and fret over 🤓
Someone asked me why we love, the way we love; Someone asked me, self-consciously, hesitantly of Traditional bonds of loving; of contracts galore, Of inviting in the government to tamper and explore That which is so personal; the workings of the heart; Of sanctioned forces barging in and prying it all apart.
I listened with a quickening of my own protesting heart I too had felt these candid rumblings from the very start; I had also walked down the same traditionalistic aisle; I too had been a part of its teeming rank and file; I too had signed on dotted lines, confirming legalese, That made a mockery of the love, respect and dignity.
It’s almost like Humanity is bound to slip and fall; To devolve into barbarity; to sputter and to stall. The only way to save us is to firmly bind us down In sacrosanct bondage; in virginal robes and gowns. Genuine love, self respect, honesty and choice Are not the sounds of virtue; nor the devotional Voice Of all the great faiths that in their wisdom divine Have instructed us exactly on how to walk the blessed line.
Someone asked me why we love the way in which we do So bound in ceremony; counter-intuitive to the truth. Someone asked me why we could not just trust Our own sense of right and wrong; our own moral compass. Marriage - I too wondered about this absurd and quirky norm That duly institutionalises us before we can be with someone. Is it well intentioned business that has sadly gone awry? Or is it another patriarchal construct; a powerful, pervasive lie? I’m still trying to discern its gameplan; its true wherefore and why But the enigma continues to survive; and we continue to comply.
Following from “Creatures of the Park” (link attached below), this piece is inspired by my varied experiences at the 2 or 3 cafes I frequent in Colombo city. As with my regular evening walk, I am also a devout tea and latte aficionado. And as a creature of habit, I do tend to absorb the full gamut of gastronomic, service and atmospheric experiences at the handful of places I go to. So here is my affable ode to the characters who, like me, are also found at the oft-frequented coffee places around town.
Angst, amusement and even downright vexation Are some sentiments that have inspired this particular narration Because when my adrenaline is not racing haphazardly around Yours truly can’t weave verse or prose that is profound So here’s a bit of a congenial ramble About coffee shop folks and their queer, quirky angles
The first of this set that I chanced to espy Was the gaggle of ladies who meet over coffee and pie They are genteel and smiling and conversing lightly Of Ruwani’s boyfriend and Andrew’s new-found sobriety Of weddings and parties and stand-out memorial services Of yoga class affairs and other sexagenarian caprices
Following sharply on the last set’s heels Is the would-be Romeo who’s eternally spinning his wheels While on his regular tarriance through the cafe He’ll go through the motions, happily epitomising the cliche-Sauntering gait, wandering eyes, obnoxiously loud! Because how else would this Adonis be noticed by the crowd? This one evokes both frustration and pity Deluded sense of self; diddly squat in the mental kitty
This next one (my favourite) is quite off the charts The 93 year old with tremendous love in his heart! He’s delicate and fragile and yet undauntingly sure Of his libidinous vigor and marvellous allure He speaks in faint tones, each gossamer vein outlined “I want to make love to you”, he solemnly opines. [True story!]
There is also the resident troop of servers With personas as varied as their gelato flavours There’s the hero who averts a gastronomic disaster And the shrinking violet who couldn’t have disappeared faster You’ll also see “Lurch” on his tropical vacation Waiting tables, no doubt, for some fiscal augmentation (Who’d have believed the fiendish frugality Of the profusely gilded Addams Family!) There’s also Happy and Dopey and Sneezy and Bashful- Each cafe with its own quirky take on the fairytale.
The likes of me, of course, continue to be The nose-in-the-book kind, with the-tail-on-the-seat Looking up only to rest whining muscles Perennially ensnared in the Introvert’s social tussle: Latte on standby, with napkins and spoon I’m in a world of my own in the bustling tea room
The rest of the coffee shop throng is assorted The foodies, the guzzlers, the loners, the courted The suited and booted, the flip-flopped, the Collared* A theatrical cycle of life streaming onward This gamut of movement, that with spirit is rife Is what makes modest coffee shops larger than life And so I continue to frequent tea rooms and cafes To delight in the milieu and lacteous lattes.
* Collared: priests, monks and other caffeine-relishing clergymen.
Lockdowns, inbound, not allowed to go out. While Queen Corona, that prima donna gaily traipses all about. She’s making sure we don’t forget Her microscopic savageness! So she merrily mutates every 60 days In Vietnam, Brazil, India and the UK. I do despise her with a passion so! That dung of Newt; that Toady’s toe!
I tried to see the cosmic grace; Nature’s reckoning, her showing us our place; Cloaked in all her viral majesty, Bequeathing wisdom in all this travesty … But enough already! How much more Do you want us humans to buckle down and endure? You know we’re as stubborn as the proverbial asses No amount of beating will turn us into planet-loving masses!
So begone! Away with you, Ye vile Covid, Get out of our systems - Scat! Move it! Two years is enough of a pandemic battle; Go away! Depart with your deathly rattle. Even Nature is kind after tap-tapping her cane; You’ve ravaged our bodies; now you’re driving us insane. Seclusion, Solitude, I’m so done with these Ice Maidens Give me a cafe, a bar and a mall that is laden With throngs of happy and virus-free crowds Chattering, nattering and walking about!
This ode is for you as an un-fond farewell Please go to Mars; I hear its volcanoes are swell!
They say with some frivolity that we humans Are nothing more than cucumbers with emotion. Even in this bizarre drollery There is some existential irony As we go from one diet to the next; One new year’s resolution to the next; One promise of commitment to another; One version of truth to another; One moral compass point to the next; One exhausted ideology to the next … Always yearning, needing and wanting; Promoting, demoting, hiding and flaunting; Also faltering, crumbling, momentarily falling; Then rising and moving, stoically persevering; But ever Hoping; always enduring To become ever better; to build something lasting. And so we continue to live on our blue green planet, Perpetually watering 60% of our body weight; Unconsciously threading into the throb of Existence As it weaves its alchemy in the H2O continuance In and around us; into the grand scheme of things; Our emotions are there to remind us of this. So the next time you feel somewhat overwhelmed, Under the weather; emotionally spent; Take a deep breath, and remember ladies and gents. That we’re just watery green vegetables endowed with sentiment.
A little background to the below piece. My evening walk is as integral a part of my day as my first copiously caffeinated cup of tea. I venture out 6 days a week, inclement weather notwithstanding, and no matter where I am (I have an uncanny resourcefulness for finding workout venues, even if the source of my next meal disquietingly eludes me). And having followed this body and mind discipline for close to 20 years now, i have had ample opportunity to observe, experience and expertly categorise my fellow park-goers. What follows is the somewhat meandering result. If some of it resonates with other fellow walking track creatures, the bleary-eyed hours writing it, were not for naught!
It all started in those very early days Social media was limited, it was the digital Stone Age Post a relationship, solo-winging it again No other pastime seemed to make sense So jiggity jog, I began doing the laps And that’s when I discovered the creatures of the track
This funny set is the first that I came by: The posse of old gents who give you the glad eye And if they’re feeling especially brave They will ardently stalk you around the enclave The dignified gait transforms into a stampede Which an imminent coronary doesn’t seem to impede The breath is ragged, the pupils dilated If I wasn’t The Stalked, I’d have slowed down and waited!
The next of the regular crowd in the park Is the muscle bound ‘Lone Ranger’ who’s out for a lark Acutely aware of his tittering fans Like a peacock he’ll do his trademark dance (Read: do a slow jog looking totally focused But we know his nonchalance is quite entirely bogus!)
Then there’s the most entertaining stream: The ladies who’re out there to see and be seen They glow and they glitter and shine in their gear Quite confident they’ve outdone all of their peers Most have come from vast distances off Because Wednesday is ‘event day’ at the Racecourse! They walk and they talk and they scan their environs Hoping to catch a gander of the super fine ‘uns (Please note that I feel abundant affection For this vibrant, spirited ladies’ faction)
Then there’re the crowds of parents and children Of bicycles and tricycles and scootie action Of badminton, football and even cricket Right in the midst of the walking thicket Of aimless ambling and head-on collisions Guardians and wards on their own park missions Of flash-mob type coordinated collectives Sweating it out over their synched acrobatics This crowd doth teach uncommonly well The precision art of duck, dive and repel
But I’d be remiss if this septet ignored The likes of myself in the regular park hoard Yes, I’m the one that’s outrunning demons Not one or two, but prodigious legions! Eyes straight ahead, “baton” in hand I march to the sound of my own brass band I may even come across as a tad bit demented But a bracing, tearing traipse is so well worth it!
And so in closing, It’s quite essential to mention That in building satire into this narration I mean to soften the blow of my words Because haranguing I definitely am still, by God! A little more farce? To the whole park crowd: You’re the molasses in my tea, there isn’t a doubt!
This is well meaning satire. (Clarifying for the benefit of those readers who are still in awe of the Royals and may feel quite contrary about such outrageous literary endeavors 🤓) Read to the lilt of “Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary, How does your garden grow?”
Harry Harry! You’re so contrary How does this scandal go? With Meghan talking The Monarchy balking And the Commonwealth all in a tizzy so.
Hairy Hairy! The story’s getting scary! As Archie’s peaches’n’cream glow ... Was once under suspicion Since the pasty skin condition Is vital for the bluest blood to flow.
Marry Marry! In crowns and skirts a-flarey You had to jostle the imperial bough ... Daddy did the right thing Big brother duly followed him You went and started a socio-cultural row.
Goblins and Fairies! You wish that you could tarry In Nevernever Land with Cap’n Hook ... For reality’s a-biting This game of thrones is frightening And it just seems nicer to be hiding in a book.
For Friends and Adversaries! To know was necessary That is how great changes take root ... So keep the commoner cloak on The scandal’s far from being gone Granny too’ll want to stomp her august boot.
But when all’s said and done ...
Its hurrah hurrah Harry! You’ve been extraordinary For calling out the system so ... The bigoted beast’s a-fester Of king and queen and jester Dang! It’s been a cracker of a reality show!
Almost but not quite beleaguered and bemasked – February 23rd, 2021
In the spirit of well-meaning satire, a droll little tribute to our visiting PM, Imran Khan. You’re still our best hope.
The flags are flying at full mast The PM’s coming to town The green and white, oh what a sight For diplomatic, foreign affairs of the heart.
He’s also got the go-ahead To traverse through enemy space The Indian stratosphere, oh dear oh dear What if he disappears before arriving here! A conundrum, a tragedy, a veritable geo-political disgrace.
But when all is said and done and he brings His cooperative politicking to town Then if things go his way or the way of the Modi Is superfluous as he leaves some of his aura behind That persona, that charm, oh what a man! It is Love Actually* that i feel for Imran Khan. The icon, the enigma, the sportsman turned statesman of Pakistan.
(Yes, with sugary sweetness this verse is replete, But I hope you can read the gentle comic relief)
And so I end this tribute with a nod and a cheer, You’ve got your hands full our PM dear, So while you’re trippin’ around, This erstwhile seaside town Do get some R&R with Lanka’s favourite Arrack and beer.
A view of the Galle road, Colombo from my cafe vantage point today
A fond tribute to all the hillbillies around the world; to the vaccinated lot and the detergent gulpers 😉
I was mindin’ ma own beeswax, toilin’ on the grange potterin’ in my chicken coops, Tendin’ to ma mange Got it off sweet Misty Dawn, the old ass at the farm She’s in Donkey Heaven now and left me with the charm I’d have a 12 Corona pack, and get drunk as Cooter Brown*, I’d be swayin’ about the Hillby Farm until the sun went down I was happy as a pig in mud* America was great And the dammed Corona virus came to the United States
I done not seen it yet, they say it’s kinda small But ma piggy babies are tiny too, and I can see ‘em all! I got me a pair of new clod hoppers from Jed’s shoe estate To stamp out the damned varmint, if it came up to ma gate I also done taken out ma AR-15 And polished it up nicely to a mighty high gleam And If I ever see that Corona son of a gun I’ll mow it down with a full-on clip ‘fore I’m fully done!
The Corona! Who’d have thunk that beer could be mean! I’ve done throwed 24 cans of it on the grody heap I’m indulgin’ me ale-hankerin’ with this new “Lion Beer” Brewed in Colombo, Kentucky by a good ol’ American brewer Now I sit on ma porch all day, until it done get dark Waitin for the cowardly Corona to holler its ugly bark I got ma gun on the ready, and ma virus killin’ gel “I’m ready for ya plonker, and you can Kiss ma go to hell*!”
They say the Corona’s got a magical wee cloak And you can’t really see the darn thang until you all-out croak And then it just eats ya, right up from the inside So you’re not there no more - like you just never died! No sir! I ain’t gonna let that happen to ol’ Bubba Buckley I already got me a verse cut in marble for when I decease And then I heard our Cap’n Trump on the idiot box He said drinking De-tergent will kill the nasty fox So I went to ol’ Skeeters, and got me 20 pods of Tide Gonna have the whole darned lot with ma Lion beer tonight.
Southern Slang/ Idioms: *As drunk as Cooter Brown: Very drunk; inebriated *Happy as a pig in mud: very happy; ecstatic *Kiss My Go to Hell: Kiss my a** *Hankering: craving; urge
And I think he’s called the Covid, the Covid 19. I also know this declaration seems somewhat extreme Because I hadn’t been tested So how could I have bested The microbe that has its pestilential claws render all it touches, grievously impure? Try “dead” to be factual! But hope doth spring eternal .... In this pandemic, we lasses are only gently brushing by Hades We’re nothing if not intrepid of spirit, what say you ladies!
But I digress- yes I still maintain, That I encountered the corona conta-gion! It came upon me like a flash in the pan; One day I was hearty, the next, weary and wan. And my muscles, they did ache Like someone had driven a stake Through both of my legs, ala some Vampire Chronicles Except ‘twere my limbs that were speared, and not my coronary auricles. Could have been the ventricles too I concede, But poetry is distinct from prose, you too will accede.
Continuing the saga, I was sick as a dog No not quite, I’m just exaggerating a tad! But there was intermittent nausea and my spirits had dithered; The full bodied lily had ever so slightly withered. I thought I would get lighter By a kilo...or fiver. But the ‘piggy pangs’ continued to be salubrious guests, And so, I beat the virus at my robustest best.
So why do I say that I have sat at the table With the Mighty Corona and am yet able To count myself not only among the recovered and well, But also that alone, I greeted and then bade him farewell? Because it defies logic and reason, That the virus is enjoying a full hunting season In the First World, which with all its military might Hasn’t been able to quell this microbial blight; While the much more vulnerable emerging nations Are seemingly left to their third world machinations.
So I’ll end with a salute to our high caliber genes For besting a bacillus extremis like Covid 19
Mahvash Mohtadullah 