'the curious incident of the dog in the night-time'

A novel by Mark Haddon

An insightful and moving piece of work, it is written as a narration of a child who is autistic. Not only draws a beautiful picture of the world and thinking of such a person, but draws out the sense and simplicity in the understanding of a child. I found the book a profound reflection on life itself. It is a must-read for parents, teachers and educationists.

An Ode

This is a poem I wrote for someone:

Just as water flows,
Untiringly, relentlessly, to it's end
Ceasing not for celebration or sorrow.
Sometimes a comfortable gurgle,
Gently drenching souls in its path-
Sometimes an unstoppable force,
Sweeping empires into it's tiny drops.
Neither seeking favours nor giving aught;
Filling all emptiness.
Clear, transparent, beyond shape,
Assuming colour and dimension-
Taking, or giving Beauty?
Life-giving,
Almost unnoticeable in it's simplicity.
My song to the idea of <>

I lost my spectacles!

This was written when I was in class 9:

The next few lines that you are to hear,
Are the funniest, do not fear.
That suny afternoon, at school-
It was destined that I play the part of a fool.
There I was, - studiously typing -
And my friend was showing off her new ring.
All of a sudden, my spectacles! they were missing!
And then started a great deal of fussing
I searched and searched and searched everywhere -
By now the typewriters had begun to stare.
I searched every place I could find,
Telling myself that God is kind.
Then the lavatory found me in there,
For my skirt had developed a tear.
Back to class, I then came -
To find that I'd gained a lot of fame.
My friend suddenly pointed at my pocket,
There lay the culprit, right beside my locket!
My teacher exclaimed, "You are Great!"
While I sat down cursing my fate.
------------------------------

Well, I have used poetic license here. My friend was not showing off her ring but something else I dont remember what and there was no locket in my pocket, only the missing spectacles!

A smile rains

it is a typical tropical summer noon.
the heat is stifling in the jam-packed bus,
I am praying for mercy and at least a light shower.
a girl sits down beside me; asks me the time.
I answer her, and we continue our journey -
a brief unnoticed, orphan togetherness.
until she gets off the bus,
then turns and gives me a beautiful smile –
big lit-up eyes and a perfect row of teeth, on dusk.
for me, it rained.

Night Sky

Wrote this after I spent almost half the night up on the terrace once, not thinking but just being:

I met Night Sky today,
And what stories he had, to tell me.

He has been right above me all this while -
What a surprise, I met him only today.
Came everyday, and waited for me,
Or so he says!
But fool that I am,
Caught up with Good Fellow Life;
And what he has, to offer me -
That I missed Night Sky.
He just smiled at me, ordered me to shut up,
And started his tales.

He stopped the Birds,
In a hurry to return to their nests,
To stay a moment for me.
He beckoned to Gentle Breeze-
Who blew in and ruffled my hair.
He asked me to meet his little friends,
And they twinkled their greetings merrily.
Pointing out the solitary plane,
He told me about the little girl in there -
Returning from boarding school,
Her face one big smile.
He promised to introduce his other friends,
Who were just then on their roofs, chatting with him;
Some, about crazy traffic, weddings, and the coming vacation-
Others demanding that he command his absconding friend Rain to come.

He began telling me about Morning Sky,
When, "oh!" I said, "it's time for me to go -
"Good Fellow Life will be waiting for me"
Came the answer - "But, who's that sitting next to you then?!"
We're old friends now, Good Fellow Life, Night Sky and me.

Rain

Written in 2007 madras monsoon time:

Today, the skies opened up.
One moment, there was nothing,
And the next, storming us unawares -
A thick curtain of movement.

Torrents and torrents of water,
Beating upon my world
And washing it new.
Washing away all longing, all fear, all want.
My spirit, the spirit of the water, all one.
Now glistening on the leaves,
Now gushing by the side of the tar road,
Now crashing on the roof,
Now streaming down the stairway.

I am the wind howling,
I am the thunder rumbling,
I am the lightening -

For a breathless while, boundaries were hazy:
where did God stop? where water began -
where did water stop? where I began.

Wedding

Wrote this while sitting in a wedding a few years back:

So many worlds,
so many explosions---
one togetherness beginning,
so many others in the making.

Loud music,
so that the bride and groom
can hardly hear
their own thoughts;
lest they flee the altar!

Tiny steps...
laying the foundation,
for bigger strategies and stories-
"see, I've got a Big bangle, it makes this clink sound"
"see my new dress, mm... ammaaaa, I want new bangles"

Pitter patter, little feet tapping in rhythm to the noise, ahem, music.
One solitary soul sitting in deep contemplation of his surroundings...
next door gossip on one side,
"my great-aunt's daughter's husband got her the gold chain she's wearing"
"so, your daughter has become a big girl now, I remember her in her chaddis"
"by the way, I heard that he is a software engineer. How much does he get?"
one little finger picking a little nose and enjoying the spiritual experience...

Twinkling eyes, glittering sarees, reminiscences, laughter, mouths
involved in frenzied activity - no time like now to talk, no time like
now to eat, no time like now to smile, laugh...golden necks and hands,
an occasional golden nose, pearled hair, be-jewelled bodies.

The eye of the hurricane,
the centre of all the hullaballoo -
their wedding will begin
when the audience is gone,
and the glitter & gold locked away.

Romance

One of my earlier poems, written I think during a trek in the kodai hills way back in 2001!!

Romance in the air I breathe now,
romance in my soul....

is it this place?

But, we can find romance, can't we
in that elusive dream...
in tomorrow's hope?

My feet feels the morning dew on the grass,
I feel romance in my nerves...

Racing by, through the fields,
a battered tape player playing my favourite classics,
smell of pine and eucalyptus,
village sounds and smells
a backdrop of hills,
the picture of romance.

But then again,
is the romance in the picture
or in me?