Thursday, January 8, 2009

In favor of my own very good film festival (A note on 13th IFFK)

Normally during the film festival certain movies I feel political. This time even before entering the theatre I felt political. Delegates de-dignified were in the queue their hallows fell down to impatient standing. A dog probably a bomb sniffer its leashes held by a stout hunk came out opening the door from inside, I was waiting as the fifth one near the entrance and a pulse to move forward was suddenly cut short. I felt political or intrigued a sort of like feeling I had while watching The Cyclist and saw the man of authority in the car suddenly pulling off then pushing off after closely watching the cyclist. Someone uttered in Kannur intonation what hair strand would come here paying rupees three hundred to place a bomb. Some one chortled. I felt amused farcical globalized and at the same time responsible and grim jawed for being in a place where I shared terror stricken Mumbai in a jiffy perhaps like everybody. My own mallubujilog went in as if in a ritual passing through that metal frame. I was specially checked at almost every point for having a personal bag with a kit of paste toothbrush shaving set, a full bottle of drinking water, and a lungi and spare underwear and a charger of a mobile phone. Good the security is tight as tight as that eye of the needle through which forget camel not even a particle of dust can pass. Let not Mumbai or anything untoward repeat .Viewers worked like tillers in a corporate farm. Cultural anarchists were silent. Everything was smooth running like that well oiled machine all for good. Well punch in!

Thanks for making me political even before watching a movie.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Komal Gandhar1( In memory of certain anarchists)

Once
Or
twice
I saw you
For a matchstick flame- time
Lighting a beedi

Hair
Beard
like Mirza Galib2
like Christ

100 ml of fiery
arrack
blossomed
“ Black Magic Woman3

then
a folk song
on death

In parallel mirrors
the Prometheus selves4
multiplied

John 5 became
Ghatak6
and
Shouted:
“Go make film bastard”

became
The Hitler of his film
The Hitler of his life
Death

2
For a bird
of your fiery breed
beggary, death
annunciation
nirvana

Falling down
or
pushed down
from a terrace
Motor cycle
or
Auto rickshaw
Victor Leenus 7, T.R.8
Surasu9 or
Chirammal Jose10

Leaves
with such names
always fall
prostrate
kissing sludge

Nameless in mortuary
minimum
two days
these
soft notes
in sharp scale
the same cadence
composition

Genes
Swaras kissed by
a black magic goddess

Anywhere

In Russia, India
Bengal or Kerala
in 18th, 20th
or 21st century

a death
natural
constitutional
post-mortemed
regularized

3
Questioning
designer existence
your
celluloid blood
black & White
towers
high

a burning torch
in a street play

“…Fire you burn11
burn, burn….”

1.Komal Gandhar a musical note . Also.name of a film by Rithiwk Ghatak
2.Mirza Galib Urdu poet Ghazal writer
3.Black Magic Womanthat song of Carlos Santana&Peter Green
4.Prometheus Greek hero who brought fire from heaven and was eternally punished
5.John. John Abraham Film Maker. in Malayalam
6. Rithiwk GhatakBengali Film maker
7.Victor Leenus Short Story Writers in Malayalam
8.T.R. Short Story Writers in Malayalam
9.Surasu. Playwright, Actor
10.Jose Chirammel. Director of Plays
11.“Fire you burn, burn…” Lines of a poem by Subramanniya Bharathi used by John Abrham in his film ‘Agraharathil Kazhuthai”

Paru

Prostitute
Always
A good omen

Caustic
Love me eyes
Strike

That
Collected idly-chutney
Bungalow image of yours
Scootering, husbanding, sari- clad sterility
Up and down
Cinema halls, supermarkets, temples
Wriggles to splinters

Breasts
Flaring up
Breathes life into
Goddess Parvathi
Buried in
Home made
Frigid
Dumb deaf
Dance

Here
She is
In your gold rimmed glasses
The great artist of “Kama kala “
Coupling as monkey, elephant,
Creatures variegated,
The Cosmic Yoni

Spitting betel leaf juice
Twitching her red Durga lips
Exploding your arse
“Look straight Nair”*


Nair* means husband also

Infinity

Sunbirds
On chrysanthemum,
Babblers around

A yellow butterfly’s
Soundless helicopter
Hovers on ears of grass

Young coconut palm leaves
Quivered
Sun gold on leaves

From the ground next
Boys appealed
Boundary or catch

Living in
Reflections
In your clear lakes of eyes
Paining you are no more
Is named
God

Daddy and Doggy

Turning away
His
Elastic rubber ball face
Daddy beamed
At doggy

Rendered
a Kalyani* bit

Unlike to me
Pricking me
Always
Pokerfaced

Now
I know

Morsels to doggy
Trumpets
Broad mindedness
Kicking it
Squealing, wagging
Its tail
Fulfills
Power lust

Bringing up
A human child,
Difficult

Savoring each morsel
Thanklessly
He sketches
A carbon soot picture
On whitewashed walls.




Kalyani* a Raga from Karnatic music

Children’s Park



Two themes
Single pulse

Children’s park
Suicide

Giraffe-like trees
Breezy shades
Seesaws, Swings
Parents, Children
Frolic

Pesticide
Or hanging

Suicide
Easier
For
Crops failed
Defaulters

A crying child
Slithers
Down
The tongue
Of a cement tiger

Mother claps
Father claps
Fear now turns
Laughter

In sad kerosene light
A morsel,
Down
The throat of
A child

Mother takes one
Herself
Father hanged
A week ago

Suicide or park
About what shall I write?

First suicide
Then park

Let
Children
Of the suicided
Also
Come
And Play
In my park.