Dear Reader,
Some men went on an ego trip years ago and never came back. I often wonder if they did anything worthwhile that made this journey so compelling for them. While we reel under the ripple effects of their self-indulgence for who knows how long, we also go about our lives, doing things that make sense to us. It’s wild how these divides work—everyone in their own bubbles, while being aware that someone else’s reality is different than ours. Is it acceptance, or are we just ignoring it? I don’t know. Do you?
At Alt Poetry’s offline event, they read Jayant Mahapatra. Of course, I’m not in Bangalore, so I missed the event but the poetry circle’s discussion around his poem, A Tale to Begin With, is where I got the phrase ‘did anything worthwhile’ from.
It begins: Jayant Mahapatra never did anything worthwhile… (I read this blatantly honest confession on Rajani’s Substack first). It’s also a question that has nudged me time and again. What counts as usefulness in this world? (Alt Poetry said we could attempt a poem inspired by Mahapatra. Well, I got inspired a little differently). Here, it is:
Is orchestrating a band of swallows perched on the Burhans worthwhile?
Or, quoting Milton, in response to, what’s your purpose, huh?
(they also serve who only stand and wait).
And, running away (I ain’t no poet, I ain’t no poet)
when they summon the Lords of Verses,
then vaulting on volumes down the alleys of wisdom,
drying ink on paper, leaping out of syllabus, drawing a line in the sand—
does any of that count? Bearing children, grinding paste,
having a strange name? Stopping each day to greet the pariah,
spotting an earth’s wanderer in your peace lily
and letting it be. Is it any good?
Buying groceries, singing songs of bewilderment, saying no
to God? Does it work?
Or, will the earth’s core have to bear a hollow mark of my name,
A crater-sized hole, my honour’s claim?
***
It takes most people a lifetime to figure out their worthiness. All I hope is that it doesn’t come from treating the world like an eggshell.
Despite the chaos in the world, spring insists on burning bright. This beautiful flame tree is on my walking route. It’s a Bumox that inspired a little haiku from me.
wild spring
gulmohurs ignite
a broken world
That brings me to the end of this newsletter, dear reader. I would have liked to share news of Kuhu, but we will leave that for another time when spring feels better. Until we meet again, stay safe within your folds.
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