Sunday, September 20, 2009

The One

Cancer, did you say?

So you think that it might be curable...

Why, pray, the emphasis on "might"?

Ah! now why is your gaze so shifty dear doctor?

I thought that you were the panacea in this world of woes:

The Divinity of God almost, Destiny reincarnate:

The One who decides the earthly traffic, who comes and who goes;

The One who has a solution for every physical need(save one!),

The One who knows best when some petty man must die,

The One whose mere glance will know in me which disease has a seed...

The One who knows best if Euthanasia is the only way out,

The One who decides if a patient deserves his body to be shredded for treatment,

The One whose presence relieves even his worst enemy when in need,

The One who has strength to bear deaths everyday and move on:

You doctor, do you flinch now,

Do you hesitate to tell me the truth?

You shuffle, you cough, you smile with a fixity of purpose:

But why?

I need neither your doubt, nor your assurance.

I want the truth, the Truth alone.

Now tell me doctor,

Tell me the One Truth,

Don't blend it with considerations,

False hopes, loving words, sobriety,

Spirituality(which I lack), Faith, Time(which you lack),

The progress of science(an illusion anyway),

The stages of cancer(the only reality for her),

The loans available for funding the treatment,

The brighter-side-of-matters...

Just tell me.

Tell me now: Will she live or no?

If yes, how? If no, why?

Will she live to see my death,

Or do I have to see her perish away...

Day after day, decaying to dust?

Speak Doctor, you have the horrible task, I admit:

But speak you omniscient, tell me when she'll die.


Some words issue from blissful romance,

some from love(specifically, gratitude),

some from despite(to be specific, abuses),

some from pain (mostly outbursts),

some from nothing at all...meaning nothing.

It is the silence of frustration that says it all:

the words inaudible,

the screams shapeless and clueless,

the blort of a helpless mind, an aimless soul.

I wonder, what is the language of Death:

is it words...

or is it silence that that dismisses every word as trivial?

Friday, September 11, 2009

Death Closes All

I had recently attended a talk by a writer called Sampurna Chattarji where she had mentioned something that had stirred me greatly. She was telling us how paranoid she was about losing her eyesight during a stretch of time in her life when she was told that she had a detached retina which could come off with any form of physical exertion including a hard slap across her face. It was then, she claimed, that she had started looking afresh at the very act of "looking" itself....and during her extensive research she had come found out something rather interesting: Death, in the Hindu mythology had sprung from the eyes of the venerable Hindu deity Brahma. This had struck me immediately: how could Death, something so final, so shattering, issue from the source of life itself? Brahma is the God of is the part of Shiva to destroy, not Brahma's. And it has been stinging me for a long time till last night I received a shattering piece of news...a friend of mine had committed suicide.

Brahma has four faces...Lucifer falls short of him by just a count of one. Lucifer's face is half-frozen, with Brutus and Cassius as the other two faces (I wonder why though...Brutus had always seemed nobler than Cassius; maybe it is just the act and not the person which is considered really!). Brahma is equally frozen: despite being the creator his eyes have given birth to that which puts an end to his creations. My friend, who has committed suicide, was a person with a gentle heart: though not quite prudent, very gullible, yet adorable. She decided to end her life for the sake of a relationship...a relationship which had left her devastated, a relationship that had drained her of all that ever possessed. I wonder....when death had sprung from Brahma's eyes, was it aware of its own grim finality of character? Did my friend know it while in the act? Hasn't she received a treatment like Brutus did, being punished for her acts and not her soul? Is that what Brahma desired? The sceptre that he holds, proclaiming the victory of justice: could it pass a similar judgement as just and necessary? Is anything worth the finality of Death? I wonder...
"Death begins with a voiced stop,
glides fast on a middle front breath through the nucleus
to a dental slit fricative,
voiceless." (A. Gartrell)

I think this is all incoherent: the rambling of a perturbed mind whose logic is coherent only internally. I can't think, I don't want to think: there's a cleavage in my brain has spilt: "sequence ravelled out of reach like balls upon a floor".