Category Archives: Musings

A long engagement

In a continuous outpouring, continuous transformation, open mouth, open belly and sex, we take and live and give and then fetishize life with our perceptions of spring and winter and birth, marriage and death. But we do not live until we learn its ragas, its music, its laws, sounds and spaces. It is the final mastery, this true submission, to the laws of life, the only one we need consent to with joy.

Sometimes, when the laws are invisible or too unsettling, we create religions out of other structures — discourses of science, faith, society, freedom — and worship and submit to those laws instead. Familiar, loving gods are more soothing than inexorable laws of life, for we may adorn our gods and god-spaces. To know these laws, and the many sutras of how we may unite with, love and couple with life, is the task.

There is nothing else to love, no one else to want, unless they personify Life for us. Of course, that’s when we fall in love and still live.

And before the submission, long before and long after, there is the combat, the dance, the drama that must be played out. One contending with the other, to win, to lose, with skill, without honor, with a delicate violence.


Batshorik Kaaj: Farewell to a Father from a Daughter

All is changed, changed utterly, and yet there is the mango tree laden with fruit and birds, there the gulmohor tree wrapt in fire and little furry squirrel, here and there the markers of my childhood and youth, and just here the pillars of my mother’s world (shongshaar). I am here in Calcutta to usher you into the realm of the gods, father, so they say, for you have spent a year beyond us already, but you seem to have left these messages behind. And all day, all day, the trills and tunes of the hidden koel bring back my childhood before it is chased out of the mango tree by the crows.


Sand and city

She saw it and it made ashes of her heart, so she walked away and when the ruins ate her road she ran away into herself, diminishing to nothingness, and was nothing. And then the body alive, near-forgotten, became hell.


Stutter

Projections and transference and all such. I call them raisins, thirst-inducing food. A little canister of rattling mockery we carry around.


I would like a silence

Half a brick here, a scraping there –

these walls will crumble — and the little, naked,

shivering self — the world is eyes and unspeaking

mouth. I would like a silence to go away in.

 

 


Changing the World

When we say we wish to change the world we merely mean that we want to fix it in a form of our own making. For the world is always changing, and we enthrone shadows in the end.

All our battles of work and love come to mean the preservation of what we wish the world to be. We suspend it between this or that heaven or hell and try to chastise it into being.

When it is not to our liking, we punish it, or ourselves. We die when we punish what we love in the name of something else we would love. Utopias (nowheres) are by their definition the projections of our desires.


Scripts

Ask me for the shape of things and I shall pick you up a pebble. Let the wind answer for me. This bit of hair, this dust of skin. After the communiqués, I shall take courage and be wrong.

Ask after the old and the new and I will find you some soil, my sandbox to play in, some knitting, there will be no albums. Money, photographs, leaves, they all fall slowly. I cherished them once. And I will tell you of the span of ten fingers, all dreams and air, and the desperate need for record-keeping.


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