the banaras i saw
its been five years now since that trip to banaras. i remember going there without any expectations, without any internet researches ... only an open mind
and there were some deeply interesting experiences that have stayed with me ... these poems are my way of remembering them
Kumar
banaras was the place where i met
kumar for the very first time
was it banaras or was it kumar
don't know who elevated whom
just know that for this beginning
there couldn't have been a better place
almost every waking minute of those 8 days
he accompanied me
lifting me out of those streets
letting me see them from a little above
allowing me to be right in the middle
and yet removed from it all
the timeless voice takes you everywhen
everflowing, like the water in kashi
within a breath, the softest love of god
or the most stern demand of death
rooted deep, in the many years gone
yet seemingly effortless in this moment
and just abruptly he had to leave,
right at the end of the stay
after a whole day of listening
the sleepy driver said he had to put it away...
i found a precious treasure
my joy i was happy to share
but you can only take a horse to the water
i, for sure, will drink from this fountain forever
banaras
a place where entropy fails
filled with mysterious tales
it was not what i was told it'll be
and more than what i thought it could be
every street invites you into its depths,
crooked, it lets you see into yourself,
crowded, with a disparate assortment,
unrelated objects, collected memories, and remains,
like a python it slowly squeezes, makes you
breathless in that overwhelming narrowness, and then
spits you out into the ghat's openness
you look back trying to make sense
like just having watched an art film
that you know was something important
but couldn't really get
sitting down to catch a breath
finding yourself at the foot steps
that lead up to the mighty river
flowing below a vast nothingness
the evening sun softens everything up
like forgotten butter on the table at breakfast
the river she is boiling on a slow simmer
her patterns shining in delicate glitter
as I'm lost looking into her, more she seems to rise
the water has reached my feet now, i'm unable to take flight
'i didn't want to dip', my hands clutched to pray
unyielding, she's drowns me in her sway
an innocent bell wakes me up, to
faint lamps dotting the nights darkness
they look lighter, floating in the air
objects, memories, remains.. are all washed away
markets
there is a lot to read about a people
by seeing what and how they eat
and equally if not more intriguing
is to see where and how they shop
markets are always the favorite first stop
banaras though had to make it different from them all
banarasi paan - that thing much talked about
found the real fun where its makers flock
the magic that begins with this prized leaf
naya paan dariba is where they all satisfy this need
calcutta, maghai, bangla or desi
an inherited skill which they make it look so easy
Then came the strangest one ever
A market with only pigeons for sale
One young seller came to me going about it very straight faced
Look at the eyes, claws and wings he said, like pointing at nuts on a bread
Homing, racing, decorative or carrier
find your reason, and you can have your pet
we are fine
stuffing our mouth with a leaf, while
ruminating over the days pile
Even if it makes one look very cattle like
we are fine
to end the day with a moment of peace
looking at a white caged bird
who is not free to fly
gamcha
wrap it over your head
as protection from the sun
style it as a scarf
make some hearts burn
use its strength & flexibility
to tug at things hard to hold
who needs a pair of tongs when
around the tea pot a gamcha can mould
incase you encounter the wild
make a sling of it
if there is a person you want to honour
give one as a gift
dont forget to get a gamcha
any kind will do
cos when you are in banaras
do as they all would
khichdi baba
for many centuries now
the different ones come together
churn along in single pot
transforming when it gets hot
turning into an indistinuguishable goop
satisfying hungry souls with every scoop
whether it is a myth or is it for real
who cares about the story of this meal
when the world is becoming a divided land
its a miracle that khichdi baba still stands
raja ghat
going about my way in the city's maze, like
a twisted stubborn sleeve from the laundry wash
but every street let me in, took away my knots
and gently turned me inside out
with neatly packed boxes of time
snacks that would last all day long
no other way one would come along
to the shrine where raja ghat belongs
an island by the ganga
one could step away from the hustle
settle down, spend time with the water
as it flows along, quietly muffled
few regulars came there for somethings
besides that they seemed to care about nothing
the man with the first motor boat, and another who fed the fish
the boy who made imaginary worlds, and the evening solitary priest
then there were guides shouting on boats, 'that is Narad ghat'
as they made up stories of the riverfront next door
an air of invisibility was felt in their neglect
yet in its solitude these steps seemed content
man who fed the fish
It's been many years
He has met them everyday
Every evening he came quietly
Same place, same time
he stood there by the banks
with half a kilo dough mass
carefully rolling small beads
as if he knew every fish's size
you realize it requires some will
In riding fifteen km on a bike
to bring dinner for someone
who wont even have a chat
who did he really come for
you wonder
the fish, gods, or the others around
who didn't seem to care
or did he come looking for himself
at this holy land and time
while some were counting beads in silence
he quietly threw them to the lines
solitary priest
what a spectacle to behold
the evening prayers in banaras
crowds slowly swarming towards
a popular hive on the banks
on offer are some special places
if you have the right friends
or on a boat you could hop onto
floating upon the one who is being prayed to
and for those whom nothing else is left
melt into one, packed with the rest
the steps turn into a grand set
arches, flowers, an ornate stage
oversized lamps to dazzle
ornate lights that shine
there is something to satisfy
every watching mind
the water turns special at this spot, it seems
needs ceremonial uniforms and an army of priests
the diligence of repeated practice
everything moves in stringent process
the dancing hands are synchronous
their bells dinging in resonance
when you take all that away
what remains?
to find out move a few hundred feet please
to your left
a lonely priest
no grand displays
fighting the darkness
with an apologetic lamp
a bell so soft against the silence
his presence is barely there
nobody to coordinate with
noone else to compare
no boats full of people
for his prayers who care
noone to touch his feet
no change for him they spare
yet every evening of every day
a solitary priest is there
following his own rules
no weight of a thousand eyes
surrendered to his faith
has nothing more to materialize
a heart that performs a prayer
not a peformance, no disguise (/a hand that any performance lacks)
in this silent act he makes
a tribute to the great river
he has no need to declare
a love for the mother
what a spectacle to behold
the evening prayers in banaras
what a spectacle within
this evening prayer in banaras
that big city from where i am
'be careful', i was warned
there are many a cunning folks in banaras
thankfully i ran into individuals
and not my own fears
first day a stranger bought tea for me
another scolded his brother for bothering me
one refused money for the food he served
like a long lost friend, one's life story i heard
and like every story needs a twist
this one is about the kind man
who was once scared of cunning people
of that big city from where i am
from the quiet banks of the ganga he came
to this station that was an ocean of people
i knew this place like the back of my hand
around here is where i grew up as a child
a sick wife and overwhelming chaos
he didnt know where to go
until there was a tap on his shoulder
a young lad with some kindness to go
all the stories rushed to his mind
do i trust this stranger in an unknown land
not having a better plan ahead
the boy's help was all he had
he found them shelter
got them some food
took the mans fears in return
left him filled with gratitude
the river welled up as he held my hands
his eyes were thanking that young chap
and he said, no more is he scared of
that big city from where i am
wonder where it comes from
such kind of mysterious care
whats the hesitation in giving
when i have had my own share
cant thank you enough
my fellow city dweller
single handedly you've changed
two cities forever
Lassi
the biggest temple of them all
had no allure at all
but the curious cat went to look
what the fuss is all about
There are ways to get in quick, but god
is the last person I’d offer a bribe
So in his ornamental serpentine queue
i joined along with the tribe
finally, about to take my first holy bite
a hand pushed my shoulder in spite
keep moving ahead i was told
there are many waiting to unfold
stepping out in disbelief
my spirit left hungry
in my attempt to satiate it
i went to have a cold lassi
small yet famous place it was
painted in His blue
a scruffy old man sat there
his eyes unaffected by any hue
a menu overflowing with options (/with a 100 lassis on the menu)
his favourite one i thought I'd take,
'clothes and food are best
only of one's own choice' he said (/when they are ones own choice)
mugshots from several countries lined the wall
he had never bothered to go beyond the town hall
his home and his shop was all he knew
for decades now this had been true
all his time he poured into the cup
no space for friends he could make
beware of the ones who give he said
only so that they can take
customers can wait a while he said
but never a prepared drink (there was never a ready drink that endlessly sat)
every single glass he made afresh
filled with love to the brink
suddenly the man i was talking to
was no longer there
only a jar of yogurt, a wooden tool
and hands bare
He sliced the yogurt waiting for his caress
Churned it, the tool as always impressed
The sugar faded in the softness of his touch
the whole act so delicate, it did not seem like much
He filled up the earthen cup
And topped it with a dash of cream
It had the eagerness of his first lassi
And the perfection of his last
Still feel the goosebumps from that first bite
Like melting into the river, a feeling so odd
As if i looked for a place of worship
And ended up in the house of god
