I ask you if you’re Happy You say that you ALMOST are ... But for that deal still stuck in the pipeline The car you’ve had your eye on Of someday getting into the privileged fold With a house in a gated neighbourhood
I ask you if you’re Hopeful You say that you ALMOST are ... But for the country’s socio-economic situation The children’s future, their education And oh your eternally dismal luck! Your lottery ticket is always a dud
I ask you if you’re at Peace You say that you ALMOST are ... But for the fear of contracting a dire disease Of neighboring countries planning a seige And that infernal noisy discord From the red duplex across the road
I ask you if you’re Alive You say that of course you are! You’re breathing, you’re living You’re thinking, you’re worrying You’re working, you’re hurrying You’re planning and hedging Against what might be coming...
Stop! Breathe .... Listen ....
Open up your mind and your heart Cast off the spell of your self-doubting trance Quit just living, come gloriously ALIVE! Be happy and be hopeful even as you strive Face the sun, take control of this time, seize the day The magic is NOW, not in your ‘morrows or yesterdays.
It’s the little joys in life That lift and hug the soul; It’s the little brushes with sublimity That paint the rosiest strokes
It’s the steaming mugs of tea shared With a friend, over confidences and laughter; The mugs wrapped in hands as warm as the hearts That are bonding, ministering, healing ... and after Memorializing that perfect little moment of joy.
It’s the sudden cool breeze that caresses the cheek And then wraps me up in its vital embrace; It’s the happy burst of a monsoon shower As she dances and cleanses; prances and quenches Leaving behind her intoxicating petrichor In a joyful bouquet of nostalgia and grace
It’s the intrepid, songful, mirthful mynah That unexpectedly struts right up to my feet Warbling of little delights; trilling with all her might Laying her little heart bare in melodious refrain It’s the big, big soul in that fragile frame That reminds me of the precious little joys.
It’s the beautiful Sakura tree, bounteous in its white and pink Waiting for a wayward breeze to stir up her flower-bedecked limbs; It is seeing the frolicsome duo of tree and breeze Create magic in a moment they mutually seize As the blossoms flutter down in lusty effusion Covering the ground with inflorescent profusion An enchanting, enthralling moment of joy.
It’s little kindnesses wrought in the moment A helping hand on a busy street, A warm smile in the milieu of rushing feet A tender word to the transiently fallen A little something more for the lonely and forgotten It’s seeing this shared transcendental camaraderie That gives me that small little rush of joy.
It’s looking up into a clear night sky And finding Orion and Taurus winking up high It’s watching the Big Dipper look tenderly upon Little Ursa Minor nestling just under the moon It’s seeing our little world from the vastness of space That fills me with joy and bolsters my faith
The quickening string that binds us all Our whole web of life; all living creatures Are these startlingly simple acts of joy These wondrous, alchemical creations of nature It’s this coming together of life’s vital energy That lifts and elates with its mystical synergy This is the mannah that nurtures the soul Mending our cracks and making us whole.
You ask me if I’m alright ... I am alright, but the stabbing ache in my heart is not alright.
You ask me if I’m ok ... I am ok, but the stranglehold of despair around my throat is not ok
You ask me if I’m fine ... I am fine, but the icy grip of fear in my soul is not fine.
I need to remove the steely shards from my heart, one piercing sliver at a time; Even if a hole, an abysmal gorge remains, I can learn to fill it with other things, better things.
I need to loosen the malevolent grip of hopelessness, one hoary, gnarled finger at a time; And learn to open myself up to the comfort of a quiet, gentle embrace.
I need to thaw the icicles of dread, one knifelike lance at a time; and learn to warm my soul with the simple heat of being alive.
I know that I need to learn to separate my angst from my being; learn to put the wretchedness to bed So that every so often, I am able to feel whole, happy and free.
And so my friend, when you ask me if I am well I say I am well, because I’m learning to take care of the most fragile parts of myself.
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!
Day ends and darkness sweeps in, Enveloping the ready and the unready into its blackened folds. It scuttles into crannies and leaps into fissures, Blotting out the light for another 8 hours ... or eternity... Tonight, am I happy to be in its restful, warm embrace Galvanizing my body and my spirit for tomorrow? Or am i dreading the walk with Erebus* in the murky corridors of gloom? The choice is mine to make.
Night ends and daylight marches in Casting off the monochromatic grey-black silhouettes. Lingering shadows disappear; the sounds of silence explode into daytime clamor. Exultant photons ricochet through the air As Earth waltzes around her own cosmic maypole; one dance done, another begun. Am I ready to seize the day today? Or am I dreading the tread of Helios* outside my bedroom window? The choice is mine to make.
The gods of Myth and the gods of Now Continue their battle in the sacred space of my heart. They wrangle with each other, the twain never meeting; Perpetuating confusion, torment and intrigue; Shredding my soul as the spoils of their unholy war. Will I continue to shed blood, lose hope and malinger for the false prophets within? Or am I ready to make this day, this life, my own? It is MY choice to make.
The Joy of Being is not by chance, but by Choice
*Erebus: The god of Darkness in Greek mythology *Helios: the god of the Sun in Greek mythology
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
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall Humpty Dumpty had a great fall All the king’s horses and all the king’s men Couldn’t put Humpty together again!
A lovely old quatrain, filled with the promise of blood and gore (or at the very least, massive quantities of ill-fated yolk!). Or how about:
Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall. And down will come Baby, cradle and all!
The doomful melodrama spanning from the cradle to the grave was never more succinctly played out than in the above poem. Or then:
Jack and Jill went up the hill To fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown And Jill came tumbling after!
Another rhyme, another disquieting tragedy at the heart of which are the children – always the children, as its main characters. The more of these nursery rhymes you recall, the more you’ll be reminded of the copiously sinister top note in almost all of them. Ranging from racism to bigotry to plain old sadism, these rhymes from our childhood embodied them all. Try reciting a few others like, Eenie meenie miny mo”, “London bridge is falling down”, “Sing a song of sixpence”, “Little Miss Muffet”, “Old Mother Hubbard” and “Goosey goosey gander” – all straight up threatening or woeful or just plain evil! Some of them are actually pithy, blackhearted little odes to actual personages and their peculiar quirks, like Mary the 1st’s religious malevolence – (Three Blind Mice), King Edward the 1st’s cruel avarice – (Baa Baa Black Sheep), the wonton love affairs of the royal European courts and its many colorful denizens; and also a myriad plagues, witches and famines. These rhymes were akin to recording history for quick, unprejudiced recall. And so, what better way than as a child’s beloved refrain, repeated ad nauseam, passed on from generation to generation; the rhyme and meter keeping it true to its original foreboding self.
Indeed, for many of us, nursery rhymes were probably the first few words we ever uttered with any pleasure after the general familial ID allocations of Mama and Papa. I still remember the infinite pleasure, comfort and toddler-centredness (there has to be such a thing!) I derived from repeating these much-loved childhood rhymes. And once the novelty of “she already knows all her nursery rhymes” or “tell aunty what happened to Humpty Dumpty” wore off, the adults also became innocently, resignedly tangled in our whole love affair with these refrains. The slightly disturbing thing is, had they known of the morbid origins of the rhymes we were so lovingly taught, how many would have still thought, let well enough alone; if it makes the kids happy, let them sing of old men being thrown down rickety stairs and babies falling out of their tree top cradles. And they wouldn’t be entirely to blame. Generations of painting the malignant with the brush of hunkydoriness quite entirely dilutes outage and indeed, skews the moral compass itself: Atrocity takes on a happy vagueness; racism becomes invisible; patriarchy adroitly sits atop any semblance of gender equality, and so on. And so now we are all quite happily complicit in perpetuating the crazed ramblings of 400 years ago, cloaked as they are in the rhythm of rhyme and meter. The nursery rhymes of our childhood, thus made eternal, are now forever rolling and roiling in the ether.
Now that we know, seems like it may be time to change the lyrics at least, while keeping the nostalgia-laden tunes/ meter alive. That too requires a break from the inertia of tradition. I’ll begin the Great Re-hash with the below rendering of a favourite. Any other shakers of the status quo, give your favourite a go.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall Humpty Dumpty had a great thought: What if all the kings horses And all the kings men, Danced a nice foxtrot Across Goblin’s Glen!
Hello, I’m the Humpty that didn’t have a great fall
**There's a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall And the bells in the steeple too. And up in the nursery an absurd little bird Is popping out to say cuckoo cuckoo, cuckoo... Regretfully they tell us But firmly they compel us To say goodbye... To YOU!
And so my dear Mr. President I wrote this ode for you, for you. Your time is up, you tried so hard I always rooted for you, it’s true!
Despite intuitive knee jerks to the contrary I kept steadfast in my fidelity to thee. And now you’ve been sadly booted out By the insidious US political machinery.
‘Tis true you created gross divisions In a fundamentally diverse United States But you were only showing up what was so viscerally embodied By large swathes of the American electorate
‘Tis true you were the Demonizer-in-Chief You gave the Corona Ravagement Envy You were gleefully racist, bigoted, xenophobic But you were only exemplifying what so many were intrinsically; Not just quietly closeted anymore with those lofty ideals But free to strut them, and really relish the feels!
And although there was now all that national drama There was also the new MAGA*-powered Sovereign Fiefdom You uplifted the cause of exclusionary statehood Allowing The rest of the world that rare freedom To regroup, repair and renew in a space Not perpetually imprinted with Uncle Sam’s face
You were summoning home all American troops As you rolled back on the US’ war waging strides You were making your America great again And letting the rest of us get on with our lives. But you were unique in your internationally disinterested approach, Since America had always been that one invincible roach That brazenly roams your kitchen by day and by night Leaving you with the detritus of its pillaging might.
Your political incorrectness was apostatized To paint you as the resident devil incarnate Your incongruous presidential demeanor Was touted to be the fall of the American super state. And so 45th, you have been summarily dismissed As a globally failed one term president no less!
But I mourn your hyper-blustery POTUS days, And Im hazarding a guess that I’m not alone. The last 100 years of American politics Have elicited their fair share of planet-wide groans. Another 4 years of you would have at least shaken The memory of a bullying, blood-letting American nation.
Now vestigial shadows of America’s wars Are rearing their ugly heads once again to explore New conflicts, new conquests, new treasures to be taken; More intrusion, displacement, refugees, coercion, Every ounce of dignity and fair play foresaken. There seems to be naught but more US agitation Writ portentously large on our collective horizon
And so in ending, to the @realdonaldtrump I say, We will indeed miss you HUGELY sir; Your autocratic, Jesus complex, Your dash of frankincense and myrrh. Now is also the time for the rest of the planet To take to their tranquilizing zen spaces; My crystal ball tells me we’ll soon be battling again, In America’s brand new edition of The Hunger Games* Races.
De Khudai pe aman
Choices…. choices!
**lyrics from “So long, farewell” from the movie The Sound of Music *MAGA: Donald Trump’s political slogan - Make America Great Again *The Hunger Games: A 2012 apocalyptic science fiction trilogy where children battle it out to the death in a bizarre state run electorate-subduing campaign
This is A sequel to my earlier verse “Ravaged”. This piece looks at the complicated nuances of nurture and upbringing, as opposed to the static all-out denunciation of the individual perpetrating familial rape. This piece of writing attempts to highlight the grotesque patriarachy which we have allowed to perpetuate and which has damaged generations of both, our girls and our boys, in its terrible wake.
I am Harris Jan Saleem, the son of Owais Jan Saleem I am the scion of the Saleem ___ family I have been raised like all the men in my family: To hold my dreams high and my head higher I have been taught that nothing bends that proud bearing. Nothing.
I was 8 when I first saw my father. In Asma apa’s room. Asma apa is my cousin; my father’s sister’s daughter. She is 4 years older than me. I saw him many times; he saw me see him many times. I learnt tacitly like so much is at home. Nothing needs to be said for it to be understood and emulated. “It” was a dutiful visit to Asma apa
I was 20 when i too knew that I had to pay a dutiful visit to a woman of the family She was a feisty one; too independent-minded for her own good. Her mother said so. I was going to teach her. I was going to teach her to be Good. To ensure no harm came to our family honour if she got out of hand. She was 11; she was old enough.
I first visited Sophia on a rainy monsoon afternoon. The family was surrounded by a haze of food-satiated, heat-fomented stupor; Each in their own space in the sprawling ancestral home. That I knew was the congruous ground for the undertaking of such obligations She was a handful. I almost came away without fulfilling the onus on me of safeguarding the family honour. But I persisted - it took a chokehold (and I don’t generally believe in inflicting violence on women). She ceded. I learnt that the chokehold was a necessary evil. Every time. (I also realized with time that it wasn’t really violence since I was doing my duty towards upholding the family honour). There are a slew of such behavioural nuances no one tells you about; which you have to learn on your own. All of which you perform for upholding the family honour.
One day my father saw me visiting Sophia Like i had seen him for so many years, visiting Asma apa. This time he looked at me - with a wisdom of the ages. And i knew then that we are the MEN of the family. We are expected to know; to be versed in the DNA prescription passed down in virtuous silence along the patriarchal line. I felt i had been let into an ancient, sacred secret. I felt an inexplicable pride in being a Man of the Saleem Jan family
It’s my wedding day today; I’m to wed Sophia When I was asked if I would marry her, I had said yes. Although she was ... tainted. But I was a male scion of the family; a custodian of my family honour. I was expected to bear that burden of protecting, of upholding the family name.
But I have been deprived of the consummaiton of my marriage.
Today her sister is coming to stay with us, For the summer. She is 10 and I think already very much like my wife, in her waywardness ... Tomorrow I will do my duty to protect my family name In whatever way i need to - Tomorrow, and for as long as i live.
I sit here, encircled in my routine, My safety net spread around me like a bright yellow blanket. The sameness, the everydayness keeping it close, gently embracing. I’ve gulped down the first half of my mug of coffee So now I’m surrounded also, by a warm cloak of caffeine. I stretch inwardly with the languidness of a just-fed, just-loved cat.
I look outside at the recently blue sky Where the clouds have now gathered in heavy eskers of grey The suddenness of the assailment, the eclipsing of the sun, Breaking the spell of my Constancy Ritual. I sip on the second half of my mug of coffee, rhythmically bolstering my caffeine haze Even as the sudden coolness of the breeze loosens my other subliminal layers of warmth.
Then the rain begins to fall. Free, fluid, gleaming, Skipping down the sidewalk; dancing in eddying pools on the street below. And i stand up and stretch with the lustiness of the Alive and the Kicking. I reach out and catch the falling raindrops in the trough of my open palm; I reach out and seize the day.
Another day breaks on Paradise Island, Little glimmers of it coming through the gap at the top of the curtain rail That was a structural detail I hadn’t intended to but quite happily overlooked when I was putting up my blackout drapes. Still in bed, from the play of light and shadow on my wall, I know whether it’s going to be a sunshiny day Or whether the island would wear its Nimbus* cape, Disrobing only when all has been washed clean; When all has been purged and restored yet again, For us to do over; for us to get it right.
I get to “my” cafe, always armed with my iPad or my book My book or my iPad; my iPad or my book - never without. My cafe, that safe haven of familiarity and space Always the same cafe, my cafe; the one cafe - never another. The place, the accompaniments, even the latte I always have: A conglomerate of sameness, of routine, of security Shotgunned together by the compulsions of a creature of habit; Unsettled only, infrequently, when I momentarily feel something stir inside A sensation, an excitement, a consciousness of Something More.
Come evening, I sit in my lounge, post workout, post shower Cloaked in a gentle haze of endorphin fuelled fulfilment For getting my steps in; my cardio done; for being “conscious and good”. For staving off the Monster of Maladies; for helping the universe protect and preserve. And then I turn on the television to the News: that digital Carnival of Disorder; To Mankind’s ravagement, sadism and deception To Nature’s retaliation of catastrophes and devastation And it continues, ON and ON and ON... And I PAUSE ||
A feeling of wretchedness and hopelessness overcomes me And then irritation, frustration and a tired exasperation And finally a fading away in a self-preserving haze. And I get on with my evening of dinner, Netflix and some reading; Then to bed.
Another dawn breaks; and the timorous glow of another new day Reaches into my bedroom; also flickering into the homes of 8 billion other people. A tenuous beacon of second chances, do-overs; of divine favours... And I step out of my home; and head towards my cafe, Once again, walking down the road of endless possibilities, new beginnings; of better things to come.
For the gracious Padmini Pelpola – the lady who lit up the porch every evening at number 12 Sir Marcus Fernando Mawatha.
We were in the throes of the affliction, all lives tossed quite asunder, Everyone struggling with their own version of their worlds-turned-upside-down. I too was grappling with the changes In a curfew-riddled cocoon of my own. There was a painful psychosis that had swept over the city And it was all we could do to hold on to little glimmers of patience, resilience and hope.
It was in this atmosphere, saturated as I was with pandemic fatigue Holding onto the one thing i knew that helped me to center To fight off the depression for one more day - my evening walk; It was then that I saw her sitting in that little porch near the car park of the apartment building. A vision of serenity, grace and beauty, borne of a life well-lived.
She was holding court as I came to see she would, every evening Equally at ease with her solitude, as with the conversational company of those that sought her out; She was scintillating, she was vibrant, she was calm and she was kind. I watched in awe and then through occasional glances. For i was mesmerised and yet I was aware that I might spook her - Spook the perfection of those two blissfully normal hours of which she was the gracious alchemist.
So I looked forward to my evening walk in the apartment parking lot, For that was the extent of our locked-down freedom. And i looked forward to saying hello to her and to receiving in return, her lovely smile every time. I fed off the revitalizing energy of that precious little exchange for the next six weeks. And then things returned to normal and I didn’t see her for a while. But the memory of those heart-warming little interactions stayed with me like the glow of a just-settled sunset.
And then I heard that she’d passed on. Suddenly. Just like that. And the news hit me in a strange, inexplicably sad manner. And I realised that I didn’t know her at all, and yet, for me and a handful of others, She had been the unwavering harbinger of a wonderful, uplifting calmness at a time of great disquietude.
And so I write this little eulogy, a remembrance if you will Of a life well-lived, and I am sure, a soul well-loved; Of the lady with the Mona Lisa Smile.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 