മാവ്

അശ്വത്ഥാമാവ്
സുദാമാവ്
അരിമാവ്
അമേരിക്കന്‍ മാവ്
എന്നിങ്ങനെ നാലു മാവുകളിലാണത്രേ
ഇന്ത്യയിലെ ദാരിദ്ര്യം
പടര്‍ന്നു കിടന്നിരുന്നത്.
സാധാരണക്കാരൊക്കെ
ദാരിദ്ര്യത്തെ പ്രതിനിധാനം ചെയ്യുവാനും
യോഗ്യതയില്ലാത്തവരായിരുന്നതു കൊണ്ടാവണം
രാജഗുരുവിന്‍റെ പുത്രനു തന്നെ അതും
ചെയ്യേണ്ടി വന്നത്-
വല്ലവന്‍റേയും അദ്ധ്വാനത്തിന്‍റെ
പ്രതിഫലം വിരല്‍ മുറിച്ചു വാങ്ങി
കൈപ്പറ്റിയ ഒരച്ഛന്‍റെ മകനല്ലേ,
തികച്ചും യോഗ്യന്‍ തന്നെ.
കോലം വരയ്ക്കാന്‍
അമേരിക്കന്‍ മാവു പറ്റുമോ എന്തോ?
ഏതായാലും ആ അവില്‍പൊതി കയ്യിലിരിക്കട്ടെ!

THINKING FOR PARADISE

Conservatism in actual fact originated at the very moment that the idea of the Progressive/secular was born and is its twin brother. Having taken for themselves the idea of progress, materialist thinking condemned its idealist brother to the fate of having to exist in perennial stagnation, with no possibility to evolve or change its course. Because change itself in the thinking, in the wake of god, or elsewhere was necessarily premised on an ongoing process of sociality, wherein prophetic thought reconfigured the very structures of this thinking through its approximations to the historic moment and to ever new social demands. The event that we call ‘secularism’ is basically a continuation of the binary structure in thought which originated with the idea of the coming of ‘light’, which in actual fact was not simply premised upon the material fact of the creation of light, but was more prominently a theological event. It was this event that generated the idea that the whole social world and the world of ideation was divided into binary structures, with the inevitable consequence that one side of it was deemed appropriate and the other deficient. The Book of Genesis in the Bible reminds us that what we call darkness was there along with god and was spread over the depths and so is not to be judged in the wake o what we call light.  While in Buddhist thought there is actually an imperative to go beyond this binary structure of good and evil (Dhammapada ) through the invocation of a sociality, and a manner of self and social interrogation premised upon a multiplicity of indices (it is important to thought that it is not properly ‘integrated’ into an overwhelming singularity, or a binary which in actuality is instrumental in operating a polarity to the advantage of institutionalized corporeal power, and looks at difference in an inherently condescending or condemnatory manner, that it remains heterotopic).
 Both the structure of total integration with Power (Adwaita)where through the mirage of singularity, the real multiplicity of the social is subsumed and a mode of thought incapable of accounting for difference is put in place (this seems to be the actual ‘maya’ that Brahminism talks about, which though attributed to god was actually a creation of this act of covering up the inevitable multiplicity of the social world by the institution of brahminism, and hence the importance of the Chandala who appears on the scene to throw a question at Sankara) , and the dualism of the binary(Light/ darkness, good/evil, progressive /conservative, secular/religious, cosmopolitan/ tribal, pure/ impure) wherein a division is instituted with the canonization of the aspect that is integrated with social power structures that are hierarchically premised and the inevitable degradation of its ‘other’ half which creates an inevitable ongoing struggle between the two parts everywhere in the world of thought and the world at large.
 The story of the eviction of man from paradise, (which is also an act that mankind repeats ad-infinitum in their personal and public lives) in this sense was an act through which power actually usurped the right to mediate between man and God and thus had given birth to the notion of a mediated ‘heaven’ which in this sense is no more a paradise where everybody could co-exist in the here and now, but a place of displaced desire, which can only be reached by the select few, and from which most people were to be kept away. The person who is thus thrown out from paradise is the prophet (Adam/ Mahabali) himself, and this leads to the destabilization of paradise and this act itself, one can easily see, was done by political power and not exactly by God. This means that any paradise can only be reinstated by the reversal of this act, and that there could only be a paradise in the here and now.   After the two thousand years, it is time now for the re -arrival of paradise, since hell has been locked up and the key thrown away and the people will throw away their shackles and come together. The first step in this gesture towards paradise, then, is to recognize the other, who for a long time in history had to be thrown out, or kept away, deemed impure or corrupt, and corrupting because of his different quest for truth. So think ahead and seize the truth, thereby materialising the ideal in this very present.

VISIONS OF/FOR THE PERPLEXED: THE ART OF BAIJU NEENDOOR

Over a period of almost 3 years that he had spent in various countries in the Gulf region as a designer and teacher,  Baiju’s works have undergone a great degree of change from that of his more turbulent paintings of the previous period. The canvases that were full of worldly tumult and conflicts of the perceptual domain turned towards the more solitary predicament of a sacrificial lamb, the skinned torso of animals meant for somebody’s consumption appearing recurrently in the precincts of shopping malls or other alienating spaces. The colours have also changed, though some do persist, the spaces have become more emptied out and the metaphysical atmosphere of a de Chirico work makes itself present, just as it do in the works of another of his comtemporaries and friend, Babu M from Palai. The ochre yellow sand of the Qatar desert, the lack of trees, sharp lights and well demarcated shadows, or the reddish brown of the earth and seashore in Darsait, Oman, the perplexed living of an alienated life- the atmosphere has changed from the chaotic dark and painful everyday complexity of the earlier canvases, to a feeling of emptiness, and towards softer  mid tones.
 
 The camels skinned torso reaches down to a man crying out with flayed hands, seated and standing at the same time, merging in their experiences of being subjected to, and without being able  to figure out one’s own way in this world of disconnects.  A waste  dump elicits the memory  of a pig, a sheep’s head stares at you from amidst buyers carts, and the tonsured sexuality and evicted desire  calls out for a lick or fondling that could quench it. Someone, with hand to one eye, looks on to a world flattened out by the absence of its other, of the life giving.

The bright sun and sharp rocks strewn around the desert landscape do figure in many works of this series. Sometimes the hard rock seem to grow and cover the life supporting organs like the brain or heart, the crustation and solidification of which points to an almost pathological condition, the brain losing its ability to think and connect, the heart failing to open up , pulsate and replenish.

One is reminded of the lines from a famous Malayalam film song

'Everybody do tell us, everybody, there is a stone in that  heart, a dark rock in that heart but when I touched, it turned out to be a piece of  blue sugarcane’(Ellarum chollanu ,ellarum chollanu kallanu nenjilennu..karinkallaanu nenjilennu, enonnu thottappol neelakkarimbinte thundaanu kandathayyaa),

 wherein the stone seems to be given a new life by the touching-  the stone being something that has grown in the heart giving a sense of closure and heaviness. Baiju’s painting of the hard  jagged rocks give them a new life, and at the same time points towards the processes of alienation and solidification that seems to gradually encompass the life-giving and grows upon it leading to closures and heaviness. In that it evokes memories of  Rene Magritte’s imagery as in another work where the heaviness makes itself felt, both as a part of the harshness of the immediate environment and its closures, a rock is seen suspended from a hook in mid-air as it is lifted by an unseen crane, which could be located somewhere outside and in front of the canvas, alongside the position of the viewer. The rock is here still with a trace of the blood red that provides it with life .

The quasi –pathological nature of the condition is also seen in another work where a human form is seen and  merging into a cart from a shopping mall, with hospital equipment and a bottle of blood, the second leg of the figure is not to be seen or is missing and brain laid open and visible. In another painting, one can see a faceless man holding a hose almost like an attendant worker at a petrol pump, with blood dripping rom it as if it were a cut off vein, the petroleum and blood somehow connecting to each other at a perceptual level, even while remaining distinct , connecting the painting in subtle ways to the location of its making.

 The skinned animal torsos (of which one come across many in these works) are also not merely representations here, since they tend to somehow point towards a human predicament, expressionistically crying out across the void, and are at times so conjoined  to the image of the human body, thereby trying  to create a monument to the undifferentiated nature itself.

NAGA SCRIPT IN A 'DEVA' NAGARI

 

 PARSWANATHA           NAGA BUDDHA                                                                PADMAVATHI

When they subsumed

The Nagas

By setting fire to their forests

And torching or flooding their cities(purandara)

Curtailing their speech

And flows,

Counting them as flaws

Replacing the real darkness of Kaliya

With the darkface  pretenses of Krisna

The enemies of  Naga folk(Nagaris)

Who wanted to do away with the endarkened

Buddhists and Jains

By  cutting off their noses, breasts,

Phalluses  and tongues(nak(nose/tongue/ paradise)+ ari (to cut off//enemy))
Holding genocidal sarpasatras

Burning texts in the old script(Pali)

Priding  themselves to be cultured(Sanskrit) Aryaputras

Reducing the other’s knowledge and language

And destroying truth

To what suits Power

And projecting themselves as Gods(Devas-Those little devils!)

Though secretly knowing themselves to be fallen(acyut- those fallen)

Made their script accessory to their crimes

And thus called it ‘Devanagari’

The script of Devas which others were not to use

And their towns(Nagari) that excluded the others

That were thought to be beautiful

Until the truth surfaced  again

And could no more be kept at bay!.

VARAHA

കഴുവേറികള്‍

മലയാളത്തിലെ ഒരു തെറി വാക്കാണത്രേ
അതും
പെരുമ്പാവൂരിലും മറ്റുമുള്ള കഴുവേറ്റിക്കല്ലുകള്‍
കാണുമ്പോള്‍ തോന്നും
മനുഷ്യരെ കഴുവേറ്റുന്ന മാന്യന്മാര്‍
നോക്കുമ്പോള്‍
കഴുവേറ്റപ്പെടുന്നവര്‍ കുറ്റം തികഞ്ഞവരത്രേ!
അധികാരം എല്ലായ്പ്പോഴും
കഴുമരങ്ങളുടെ ഭാഷയില്‍ പുലമ്പുന്നു
'ഇവനെ ക്രൂശിക്കുവിന്‍!'
കഴുവേറികളെ ആരു കാണുന്നു?

RETURN OF THE DRAGON

After writing ‘How to win accolades and burnish people’, since it did not seem to work properly Darnakee started to build a foundation for himself to make sure that he want move about much and since he had read somewhere that Marx had given prominence to the ‘base’ and was since then doubtful as to whether he was base enough. He was a bit superstitious (another of those institutions) about the super-structure, though. When the structure was represented in superlatives, you should pay obeisance (root- obesity) and kneel before it, or otherwise the rifle butt will teach you how to go about it. He was a staunch poppy tommy democrat(paunch stoppy tommy) combating aristocrat(ic) designs among suit cases and carry bags.

“Can I bear your weight, sir?” asked a brief case.

“I have a case against brevity, and the long form is too short. Let us see. Anyway, I am not packed yet. Can you put the blade through me, for Gods sake?”

The man at the shop was demo- crazy  with me, and my wallet which was near empty seemed to fill up with air to suit the occasion starting to look like bellows.

“Do you have pan-pipes?” a guy was asking the shop keeper next door.

Neither Pan nor the pan walah are in town and the pipes are leaky, but yes, you can have it.” A voice sang out from behind a huge drum.

Bhaskar went out of the shop and peered at the musical instruments in the next shop. He was amused by the hugeness of the drum that seemed to cover a three quarter of the shops space and immediately thought about the ‘Fleeing army’ a poem that he had read at school in which there was an incident in which a man hid in a drum. Maybe this could be a comfortable fit for him, he thought.

“There is a rebate on the item, sir. You can have it for…” the man called from behind.

“No, no… I need a suitcase that can carry this drum!” Bhaskar said, dismissively.

The man of foundations was standing at the corner, looking around the bend. Was he also without qualities. It was difficult to make out from such a distance. 

“You are joking, sir.”

(‘Ass hole, why bother me in my sleep if he were not here to buy something?’ he murmured under his breath.).

Bhaskar went into the shop and gave a small tap on the drum expecting to hear a loud noise. There was a flat sound, unusually soft for the size of the drum.

“Is it okay if I sound it for you?” the shopkeeper looked up from his table and queried, pushing back his glasses to get a better look.

“Are you from around here- must have met you somewhere.”

“No, no…I am from the next town and I don’t come here very often. But yes, there are many people who look like me.”

“Ya,ya…I liked your looks. But are you buying anything?”

The bellows in my pocket was starting to cry out, and the pocket tore with a screeching sound, making the wallet sound like ‘wall-streeeet’.

I turned around and saw the bull, let loose in the street lifting its tail and pooping on the pavement.

“Oh there… that is my bull-ion for you!” it seemed to quip.

“Then they made us billionaires

With plenty of bulls and no air to breathe.”

Bhaskar remembered the lines of his poet friend reading out something which sounded familiar.Where could he have heard that?

“Ionising radiation…” He grunted and moved on, and his kurtha flapped in the wind for the bulls eye to see.

“But where is this wall street? I thought it was in Israel!”

“After China,sir!”

“Chein chein anda lo!(Gimme a Chinese egg)” Madhavi screamed, looking at the egg with two yolks that she had broken and poured into the tava. “You can’t have two kids, but maybe more yokes want trouble us!” She thought.

Darnakee looked at her through the window and at the picture of St.George slaying the dragon on the wall. Next time he would have to make sure.Was the dragon Chinese? or Tibetan?

Shredder Pillai peered at it over his shoulders and passed on. “As usual, not even a national one to make a statue of!”

“Shred it , dear Pillai, Please shred it!” called out his wife. He stumbled a bit and recovered by tugging at her skirt. "Parasu Ram made us presents- but now they say he was an enemy to all ‘others’ and thought them to be mean. The Webster’s doesn’t say so- neither does the Shabdatharavali. As for that axe, what could you make of it?"

Shredder looked around to look at the image , almost as if to see whether the dragons tail had crossed his path to make him stumble remembering Bruce Lee for a moment as he stood with his thighs flayed out and hands spread. The dragon failed to enter. There was a line of smoke drawn by a Jet in the sky and he could see the jet shining ahead, but still no Lee.

“Can we have a fight right here?” he asked.

But still, no dragon.

St.George looked up to see whether  Pillai was shredding proper, threw down his javel and said, “You can’t drag this quarrel any more, Kill joy! As if I had nothing better to do all the time.”

A shudder went up Shredders spine, as nationalism gripped him for a spasmodic moment.

“Bande matharam!”

“Poye matharam!” The bull snorted. “You need wall streets, bulls and bears to make a forest for you, if you don’t know that!”

“Without a wall, the street looks empty.” Bhaskar moved on, circling around Shredder Pillai. Someday one should buy a drum like that.

“That looks like prison. Can you write diaries?”

“Not unless I am down with diarrheoa!”

“Sure you will, God bless you!”

Darnakee walked on. “You sure are flue over the cuckoos nest, epidemic!”

“No idea, sirjee!”

“Try some other network, then.”

“How about BSNL?”

“Expansions with vowels added!”

“No texting for these testing times. No Wordswap.”

‘FOR YOUR MOUSE ONLY’. The phone doesn’t work.

Let me introduce you to our daughter, said Brooke(Never die brucke) Shields. James Bond smiled from behind her.

“Don’t make it too long, Mama. Papa’s sky craft is waiting for him. And I hope that you wouldn’t mention my name.” Brooke Bond said in a nervous voice. I am coffee all over. Her coffee grey apparel looked smart on her.

ANTI- SOCIAL

Recently I met with a man
Who was  regarded by many as an 'anti-social'
Who is friendly with too many people
And sometimes took a drink or two.
I tried to salute him and move past
He stopped me
And asked me right in the face
"Why do you go around
Talking to people
Telling them that I am an anti-social
And all that?"

I stuttered a bit
Trying to find an appropriate answer
"But ....but... It is just that
I have seen you in the company of shady people
Both men and women
And know that you drink a bit
Is all that not anti social, then?"

"Ha,ha..." He laughed
I am a social drinker
And do take to some company
So that is anti- social, then?
How about you
Who are a teetotaler and family man
And would rarely meet a friend
You say that is being social?
What a laugh!
At least try to be sociable
Before you go around trying to tell others
Who is 'anti-social!'"

സാഹിത്യത്തറവാട്

പടിപ്പുരയ്ക്കപ്പുറം നില്‍ക്കേ
പാളിനോക്കുന്നൂ ഞാനും
ഉള്ളിലേക്കാകസ്മികമായ്
ചുറ്റിലും തറകള്‍ വാടിത്തന്നെ
കിടക്കുന്നുണ്ടെമ്പാടും
മുറ്റമടിക്കുവാന്‍ ചൂലുമായെക്ഷികള്‍ വരായ്കയാലാവാം
ചിതല്‍പ്പുറ്റൊന്നത്രമേല്‍ വളര്‍ന്നുള്ളില്‍
നിറഞ്ഞേ നില്‍ക്കുന്നുണ്ടു.

തറയും പറയും മറന്നകമേ കഴയും
ചങ്ങലയിട്ടൊതുക്കിയ കൊമ്പന്‍ കൂട്ടം
പനയോലകള്‍ വലിച്ചൊടിച്ചു തിന്നുന്നുണ്ടു
ബ്രാഹ്മണ സദ്യക്കായ് തുറന്നുള്ളോരൂട്ടുപുരയില്‍
നിലത്തു വിരിച്ചോരിലയില്‍ ഷഡ്പദമുറങ്ങുന്നു.
വിണ്ടുപൊട്ടിയ പാതിമുട്ടയില്‍ നിന്നൊരു തരി
കീയുലോകം വിട്ടു ഭൂമിയെ പുല്‍കുമ്പോഴുണ്ടാ
മതില്‍ക്കു വെളിയിലായ് ദ്രുതമാം ചലനങ്ങള്‍:
ഇരുളില്‍ വഴിത്താര തെളിച്ചുവെക്കും
നക്ഷത്രമൊക്കെയും വെയലിലല്‍പം മാഞ്ഞേ
നില്‍ക്കാറുള്ളെന്നാകിലും
ഏതുഗ്രരാവിലും തെളിഞ്ഞു വരുമവ-
പെങ്ങളുടെ ബൈബിളിലില്ലാതായ താളുകള്‍പ്പോലേ.
അടുത്തപറമ്പിലെ പുളിങ്കൊമ്പിലായ്
ഊഞ്ഞാല്‍ മെല്ലെയാടുന്നുണ്ടു
ബലിയിറങ്ങി മറഞ്ഞിട്ടും.

അകത്തുണ്ടിരുമ്പിന്നെഴുത്താണി
പിടിച്ചു ഭൂതങ്ങളെയകറ്റിനിര്‍ത്തും
വേദാന്തക്കാര്‍, വര്‍ത്തമാനത്തെ, ഭാവിയെ വരിഞ്ഞുള്ളു
കാലിയാക്കിടും കാവിവേഷത്തില്‍
ദന്തങ്ങളാല്‍ തീര്‍ത്തൊരീ
څഗോچപുരം ചുരണ്ടുന്നു ബുദ്ധന്‍റെയാകാശത്തെ!.
മദ്ധ്യകാലത്തെ വേവിച്ചെടുക്കുന്നുണ്ടു കഴകക്കാര്‍
കമഴ്ത്തിവെച്ചോരോട്ടുപാത്രങ്ങള്‍ക്കിടെ.
ആര്‍ക്കുമേ വിളമ്പാതെ
പാലാഴി കടഞ്ഞിങ്ങു കൊണ്ടുപോന്നതാം
പാല്‍പ്പായസത്തിന്‍ കൂട്ടൊന്നു വേറേതന്നെ!
വിളംബം വന്നൂ
തരംഗങ്ങളില്‍ യതി മദ്ധ്യം
ഞാനല്‍പം മദ്യം കൂടിയൊഴിച്ചൂ
സമകാലത്തെയകാലമായ്
അകലങ്ങളായ് മാറ്റും യന്ത്ര-തന്ത്രങ്ങളെ
ഒളിപ്പിക്കും മച്ചില്‍ നിന്നു

പ്രാവുകള്‍ കുറുകുന്നൂ, നിങ്ങള്‍ക്കു സമാധാനം!

ബോധത്തിന്‍ മറിവൊന്നില്‍ ദൈവത്തെയറിഞ്ഞവര്‍
ജിനന്മാര്‍ മറഞ്ഞേതോ കഴുവേറ്റക്കല്ലിന്‍ പിന്നില്‍
കാവിലുണ്ടടിപിടി കാവടിയാടിനിന്നൂ
കുടം വിട്ടു ഭൂതം വീണ്ടും
പടിക്കല്‍ വന്നു തൂങ്ങീ
പള്ളിപ്പുറത്തിനിയെങ്ങിനെയിരിക്കുവാന്‍
വേതാളങ്ങള്‍ വിക്രമന്മാരെ വീണ്ടും
കാണുവാന്‍ വരുന്നേരം!
അന്ത:പ്പുരം വിട്ടു മതില്‍ച്ചാടിപ്പോയൊരാ സീതമാരെ
കനകം കൊണ്ടു മാറ്റിപ്രതിഷ്ഠിച്ചെന്നാകിലും രാമനുണ്ടുള്‍ക്കിടിലം, ഉറക്കം ഞെട്ടുന്നദ്ദ്യേം
രാത്രിയില്‍ ബാലിയെങ്ങാന്‍ വന്നെത്തി
രാമനെത്തന്‍ വാലിലായ് പിടിച്ചെങ്ങാന്‍
ചുഴറ്റിയെറിഞ്ഞാലോ?

കമലയള്ളാഹുവെ പുല്‍കി
പലരും ബുദ്ധനെ
ചക്രം തിരിഞ്ഞൂ വിണ്ടും
തറകള്‍ പറക്കുന്നൂ.
കാലത്തിന്‍റെ നൂലോടുന്ന തറികള്‍ ചടുലമായ്
മറ്റെങ്ങോ ചലിക്കുന്നുണ്ടവിടെ
പാട്ടും കേള്‍ക്കാം.
ڇഅധികം വാട്ടേണ്ടയീത്തറയെ
നീയുڈമെന്നു മനസ്സാലുരച്ചു ഞാന്‍
മെല്ലനേ നടക്കൊണ്ടു.

STAND AT EVES(EASE!)

The commandant shouted
Attention!
And they were all attention.
"Who will then stand
At the eves door?"

"To drop her?"

"No, just eves-drop!"

"Haven't had a drop
For ages, Sir!"

"Then there is no way, man!
Just stand at ease (no eves), You!"

മാര്‍ച്ചിങ് ട്യൂണ്‍

ധാരാളം പേര്‍ മാര്‍ച്ചുചെയ്യുകയായിരുന്നു
ഞാനാണെങ്കില്‍ ഫെബ്രുവരി വരെ
എത്തിയതു പോലുമില്ല
തിക്കിത്തിരക്കി പോകുന്ന മാര്‍ച്ചില്‍
ഇനിയെങ്ങിനെ കയറിക്കൂടും?
അല്‍പം മുന്നോട്ടുനീങ്ങി
ഏപ്രിലിലോ മറ്റോ?
അല്ലെങ്കില്‍ അടുത്ത വര്‍ഷംവരെ
ഇവിടെത്തന്നെ ചുറ്റിത്തിരിഞ്ഞാലോ?

ആ കലണ്ടര്‍ കത്തിച്ചുകളഞ്ഞേക്കാം
അതെന്നെ പ്രകോപിപ്പിച്ചാലോ?
ചാവുമാസമെന്നോ ചൊവ്വാദോഷമെന്നോ
(ചൊവ്വായാല്‍ പിന്നേയും ദോഷമാണപ്പാ!)
പുതിയതൊന്നിനെ പിടികൂടിയാലോ?

ഇങ്ങനെ വട്ടംചുറ്റുമ്പോള്‍
നമുക്കറിയാം
ഭൂമിയും കാലങ്ങളായി
ഇതേ വട്ടംചുറ്റലിലാണ്
മറ്റൊരു സൂര്യനിലേക്കോ
സൗരയൂഥത്തിലേക്കോ വഴിതേടാതെ
ഒരേ കറക്കംതന്നെ.
നിനക്കു ബോറടിക്കുന്നുണ്ടോ, അമ്മേ?
ചൊവ്വയോ നീയോ മുന്നില്‍?
പ്ളൂട്ടോയുടെ പ്ളേറ്റിലും വിളമ്പണോ?
പട്ടിയെപ്പോലെ വാലാട്ടി അതെവിടേക്കോ പോകുന്നല്ലോ?
ആ മാര്‍ച്ചും കടന്നു പോയല്ലോ!
പടച്ചോനെ! ഏപ്രിലില്‍ മാര്‍ച്ച് എങ്ങിനെയെത്തും?