Autophony

Cancun. 2003. Same old sunrise. Same old Negotiations. Déjà vu. The Colonials huddle in the backbenches. Former masters haggle over trade up front. The rich sign a deal. They sent it over to the poor. They look at it. Unfair. Too little. As always. Crumbs. No cream. They whisper. No more. Good deal, or no deal. Four of them Form a gang. A gang of brics. A new sun will rise. They will cringe no more. They send Twist to the big ones. “May we have more please?” (brics: Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa; a group of five nations the US and EU consider most dangerous).

(A transcreation of Maithreem Bhajatha) I have come here to ask for an empire to ask for an alliance Of the hearts of the world. I have come here To ask: can I be you? To ask: Will you try and be me? I have come here To ask: ditch war! To ask: ditch rivalry! Don’t step on each other’s toes. We live in a big world She gives us all enough. We got a good God He likes us all the same. I have come here To ask: Be nice. To ask: Be calm. To ask: Be kind. I have come here to ask For Prosperity To bless us all together. The original:- Maithreem Bhajatha Maithreem Bhajatha Akila Hrijjaytreem Athmava Deva Paranapi Paschyata Yudham Thyajatha Spardhaam Thyajatha Thyajatha Pareshvakramam Aakramanam Janani Prithivi Kamadughasthe Janako Devaha Sakaladayaluhu Daamyatha Dattha Dayadhvam Janathaha Shreyo Bhooyath Sakala Jananam Lyrics by Chandrashekarendra Saraswathi. Sung by M. S. Subbulakshmi at and for the United Nations.

The city doesn't stop for anyone. He was young: agile and swift. Could cross the street. Dodge cars with ease. Not now. He is an old man now. Age, dignity, and a pension is all he has left. Wife is at home waiting. So they can sup and retire. He wants to cross the road. He wants to get home. The cars are in a hurry. They need to get somewhere too. Turnover, Growth curves, Bottomlines, Quarterly projections. There is business to be done. No time to stop for an old man. The city doesn't stop for anyone.

On the lawn stands a lapwing, In the sweet light of the moon. I saw it in the morning, It was still there at noon. The rain has shed his blesing In the happy time of June. Silent stands the lapwing, While a thousand crickets croon. When winter was freezing The bird was still around Now the rain is pouring Yet on his lawn he is found. Bright may flash the lightning, Fearful the thunder sound, Stubborn is the lapwing He won’t give up his ground. When the sun was scorching In the summer month of May Unfazed stood the lapwing The bird was there to stay. I have learnt this one thing Come twilight dark or day To emulate the lapwing, And persist in my way. This bird knows but one thing; The crow is very clever. Always experimenting, He flies hither-thither. But his skills are wanting, In the face of danger. Nothing beats a lapwing, In inclement weather. Among the crows a lapwing Hope forever to be!

Imagine a country where national interest is the only one. In which Manmohan Singh and Atal Vajpayee come together to lead the nation forward. In which Chidambaram and Jaitley are in the same cabinet, where Arun Shourie and Praful Patel work together. Where Sharad Pawar and Suresh Prabhu sort out the nation's worries, as men seized of a mission. Sigh, Imagine. Heck. If Ariel Sharon and Shimon Peres can do it, why not our leaders? http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/4485568.stm

When onion prices reach the sky, When inflation crosses limits And domestic budgets stretch Governments fall as people cry. Ministers must then use their wits Trying to please every kvetch . But what if champagne hits a high? The cost of condoms you can't bear? Viagra costs a thousand pound, The flow of vodka becomes dry Fishing rods are also dear And a guitar's price is not sound. The dismal government economist With humour now has made a tryst! Condoms used to measure inflation

The best of Japanese creative power, Is the invention of the bum shower, Bum shower, Bum shower, Japanese shower. The best of Japanese creative power. No Canadian pine tree's grandeur Need be ruined to make tissue paper. No paper, No paper, No tissue paper. Save the Canadian pine tree's grandeur. No Indian low-caste labourer, Need be degraded as a night-soil carrier. No labour, No labour, No degrading labour. Save the Indian low-caste labourer. So the best of Japanese creative power has been to save the glory of nature Of nature Of labour Of dignified labour. The best of Japanese creative power!

I saw you first at midnight miss, When the brawl had just begun, Your nasty growl and bark and hiss, My heart had then been won! That foolish pack across the street, Thought that they’d raid our dump, With zero idea who they’d meet, Got bitten in the rump! Your features in the moonlight shone, Your howl was loud and clear, And when the watchman threw a stone, Your snarl it made him fear! I’m black and shine with pedigree, Of pure-bred mère and sire, You mongrel of vague ancestry, You’re the one I desire! I see you scratch behind your ear, Hindleg in comely poise, You seize my heart, my dearest dear, And of all the other boys! Your mangy teeth, flea-bitten fur, The remnant of your tail, Make me at night, my pretty cur, In lovesickness to wail! The way you snarl and bite and tear, To guard your rubbish bin, What intruder would try to dare, The glorious mess you’re in! What human tune can match your song, When at the moon you bay! The way you dodge tho...

Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Harriet, Happy birthday to you! Happy long life to you, One seventy five! You've lived long dear Harriet, Happy birthday to you! Green beans and celery, pink hibiscus cake, Have a party dear Harriet, Happy birthday to you! You've come a long way, from Galapagos, You've been around dear Harriet, Happy birthday to you! Rise and fall of empires, One world war and two, You've seen much dear Harriet, Happy birthday to you! When life is threatened, When nature is lost, You bear a flag dear Harriet, Happy birthday to you! May we protect your kind, For the sake of conscience, We love you dear Harriet, Happy birthday to you! I wish I were you, At peace with the world, Happy birthday dear Harriet, I wish I were you! Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Harriet, Happy birthday to you! Wishing Harriet the tortoise a very happy 175th birthday!

There comes a time to live, A time to thrive, A time to die, and a time to be forgotten. There comes a time to protest, A time to survive, A time to go to jail, And a time to be forgotten. There comes a time to stand again, A time to fight and lose, A time to fear and despair, And a time to be forgotten. There comes a time to rise again, A time to fight again, A time to struggle and win, And a time not to be forgotten. There comes a time - to start all over again, A time - when the day after tomorrow has come, A time - when the star of hope has risen again, A time - when old woes may be slowly forgotten. There comes a time again, A time when tyranny ends - That time has come today, A time when the people are free - That hope has flickered again, A time when betrayal is far away - That fear has faded for now. There will come a time, - When hopes will fade away And madness will descend upon us again. But today is not that time. Today is a time to reflect - That...

Tell me whether you think their motives are not futile. Tell me whether the right thing to do is react in the way they want us to - to hide in our bathrooms and cower in fear. Tell me whether we should believe our hands are rendered invalid because we pricked a finger. Tell me whether the juice shop whose cylinder had blown up has gone out of business. Tell me then, whether I'm right or wrong.

Sing! Sing a song of joy A song of truth and beauty! A song of love A song of hope A song for eternity! A song of the galaxies A song across the oceans! A song of light A song of peace A song forever in in motion! A song for the rainbow A song for the flowers A song for a million heavens! A song on your lips A song in your heart A song that makes you happy! A song of forgotten sorrow A song for the future unknown! A song for the laugh of a child A song for the sparrow's twitter. A song of dreams A song of friends A song to go around the world. Sing! For the joy of life And sing it loud and clear! (To the tune of "An die Freude")

you seek to maim my body with a thousand cuts until it breathes no more cut here cut there cut my heart my liver my hands cut anywhere i shall grow again fresh renewed and leave no trace of the scar cut cut again go on cutting till your hand pain and yet it shall be futile I am eternal I know pain and suffer but that is all I am beyond death and pain is but illusory an ephemeral burn it singes me no more go on cut cut cut cut and i will grow grow grow grow you cut cut cut i grow grow grow

Little bundle in my arms, Your pink little face, Asleep, Vulnerable, Innocent, Drives me to tears; And emotions beyond description. As I hold you, I fall into a reverie – Diaper changes, Baby baths, Pink dresses and paranoid wife. Toddler days and teddy bears, Crawling, standing, falling down, Those first steps; Camera poised to record those fleeting landmarks. Schooldays: A tearful face, dimpled cheeks pinched cruelly by o-cho-chweeters; Leaky water-bottle, Sandwiches given to the crows, A bewildered nursery teacher And mother bent over A-B-C. Fights with those rough boys For the playground swing, Daddy dearest will beat them up And my little doll remain unhurt, Only her spirit a little bruised. Adolescence: Tampons, boys and pimples; Those giggles Those looks of shyness Awkward days for daddy. Young lady about town Dashing admirers Phone calls, flowers, Paranoid papa. The coy bride, Copious tears, Silk sarees. A deep unsaid apprehension That some young man Is losing his freedom. Pesk...

To Anchises first Roman; To Titan straddling twinned worlds of fancy and fact that pride in splendid isolation ignorant of the force entwining their fates; To Atlas, bearer of weight; To Aristophanes of the cloud-cuckoo land; To Nabokov of Lolita and the butterflies; and to that Alexander who claims the province of the spoken phrase in his domains: A bounty of words, an embarassment of riches of sweetness and light, the harvest of stars and the pageant of life!

Nine-yard saree fading in the sunlight borne with grace. Brow bent with age, with wrinkles of poverty. Eyes squint, item is held close to face to determine what it is. "Thirty rupees. Very good material, Sir. Will hold water. For ages." I paid the amount instantly. As I walk away, I steal a quick glance. Old woman, frail but proud. Proud of a day's hard labour. Of her keep honestly earned. A bit of kumkum, some flowers, the last of her green bangles. I look at me. Levis, Adidas, Clavin Klein. I would give my fortune for the dignity she exudes. Published in South Asian Poetry Review 26 (3); 2005

They shot you in your car, They shot you in your shoes, They made you pay your dues: They got you Kadirgamar! Their name you made it mud, Their pride was burst by you, Their ambitions you slew; Their aim was now your blood! Your cause you served it well, You soldiered till the end, Non-violence to defend, Your glory will now swell! Your death brings no sorrow Yours was the way to go!

Two-ninety on the TOEFL test Fourteen-fifty on GRE So I am now ready To attend the very best. Don't want your TIFR No school in Doon Valley Don't show me a home degree Just lemme travel far. Those Americans will give me Good worth for work done hard. The fathers-in-law'll chase me My money, success, green card. What can your country get me? Turn away, lemme step for'ard.

Can words ever come back to the mouth they escape from? Can ears ever forget the jarring strains of discord or the pleasantness of harmony? Do eyes ever forget the sights they see whether they like it or not?

"Who be you to tax our land?" Thus spake the fearless polygar*, For Freedom did he stand! The British did with heavy hand, Provoke every ryot to war; "Who be you to tax our land?" Kattabomman** with his faithful band Against vile Collectors did spar; For Freedom did he stand! His struggles charged the motherland: Rebellion spread wide and far, "Who be you to tax our land?" Even when at Pudukkottai the war he planned Was betrayed by the treacherous Zamindar For Freedom did he stand! He squeezed the noose with his own hand Before the they could hang him at Kayattar, "Who be you to tax our land?" For Freedom did he stand! *polygar: minor chieftain before British times **Kattabomman: in Tamil literally "Wooden Doll"

This puzzle was first invented by C. L. Dodson, and published in The Monthly Packet' in 1881. I have set it in verse form, crack it in prose or verse. The cake is iced, the pudding set, Veal and viand are ready. Cider, champagne and claret: The flow of wine is steady. With loving care, do we prepare A table set for three. For me some meat, for wife a seat, And a guest have we. My father's dear brother-in-law Is a good candidate, But brother's cherished pa-in-law, We do not bear him hate. Father-in-law's brother dear We would love to invite, Brother-in-law's father we fear, We cannot do him spite. For deserve, but one we serve, Do set our hearts at ease! Four men to dine, also to wine, With whom share we our peas?

I can hear the owls again. Can you hear their soft tu-whoo, The courser’s sharp kwik-kwoo, The call of the sole moorhen? The night is quiet again, So the nightjar can sing too. And a sporadic moo, I can hear it now and then! The little crickets court; With love-ballads seldom heard Their talents do employ. What is it that they purport? Its music rediscovered, Now the darkness rings with joy! This was written in response to the Supreme Court verdict banning noise at night . (Published in Chants of Peace , the anthology of the 9th International Poetry Fest, 20-21 September, 2016 at JKC College, Guntur, edited by Prof. P Nagasuseela and Prof. P Gopichand .)

The US recently declassified documents in which Nixon and Kissinger called our IG colourful names when her armies ran rings around his favourite Pak. Here's a politically incorrect ditty (slightly modified from Queen), of what IG might have said to him: Nicky you’re a prez make a big noise Playin’ with the world actin’ like a big man some day You got mud on yo’ face You big disgrace Kickin’ your CIA all over the place We will we will rock you We will we will rock you Kissy you’re an old man cold man Whisperin’ in corners gonna piss off the world some day You got blood on yo’ face You big disgrace Sneakin’ your tricks all over the place We will we will rock you We will we will rock you Buddy I’m an old witch sly bitch Hammerin’ your Pak, gonna make you taste mud some day You’ll get mud in your face You big disgrace Somebody better put you back in your place We will we will rock you We will we will rock you (With apologies to Queen and none to Nixon and Kissinger.)

Cat. Quiet. Terrible when disturbed. Quiet again.

A glossy notice on the board said "Write an entrance test for an opportunity of a lifetime among the very best". I filled up the form, paid up the fee and as I wrote my paper I looked here and there; for I wanted for me a shoulder to cry on. An express letter in the mail said I'd made it to stage two. So an interview was the next thing along the chosen few. I befriended a fellow interviewee. Facing the committee I looked here and there; I hoped that his would be a shoulder to cry on I was diffident and frail; He broad-shouldered, strong-willed. He'd console me at the bad time when I heard my hopes were killed. But I made the list; God! He did not. As I stood bewildered I looked here and there; I had wanted for me a shoulder to cry on. But it was mine that had to be the shoulder to cry on!

The Sun dies on a summer eve; his light at last dissipates. The shadows lengthen under the streetlamps’ wistful, flickering, even extinct illumination. Then Night begins her rule and the stars sing a million – oh! A billion – little stories – each an epic in its realm, but a footnote in mine. The bull over the west; can you hear his groans? The hunter with drawn sword and bow and his dog at his heels claim their gory trophy and sing a victory chant! The bear looks on, its gaze turned northward, tranquil and unconcerned. But the night is mine – The many-headed serpent. Run away to your houses, frail men, beware my slithering children! Safe between your walls, lamps lighted, you open your windows to let in a sliver of moonlight and shut it again when you glimpse my blazing form! My writhing figure dancing on the zenith, my tongues aflame, and my tail in gracious curves rule the night! The moon shines dejectedly in waning glory, and the planets flee at my approach – The night is mine! Kno...

TESTOSTERONE Comment-allez vous? Parlez vous Francais? Every pearly word that the pretty girl says in schoolgirl French, laboriously learnt; yet an amateur's attempt at foreign speech! And I, with bastard, self-learnt tongue, ranting, raving, showing off phrases and words I do not yet fully understand. Nevertheless upon her each word I hang! And so does she, impressed with my fluent chatter, or is she? What would not a young man do, to impress a girl, and woo her too, showing off subconsciously, (chest expanded spaciously) driven, of course by that old instinct in our genes, to make an end, whatever the means. My metre fails me, I try again, and finally exhausted let it go. Later in the day, or night as may be when her testosterone-stirring presence has vanished, and reality comes back in full force; was she? Wasn't she? Did my incoherent sputtering, and French-sounding verbiage (But it was the genuine thing) have any effect on her seemingly wonder-stricken face? Nah! O testost...

R Gowri Raghavan c'est moi, Pensant de l'argent chacun foi, Assis seulement dans ce nuit noir, Je n'ai rien pour faire ce soir!

Raamesh searches forever and ever, In muscle, nerve and ganglion, Toiling ceaseless to uncover, Secrets of the mitochondrion.

Was never a myth so firmly in place, As the praying mantis' deadly embrace, She loves her man like we love food, Hunger is her only mood. The inhibition in his head, Is shed the moment he is dead, He sows his seed for all his worth, So that his future can take birth. Evolution has a thousand means, Death cannot stop our selfish genes, But many a mate does get away, To live and love another day, Another day, another wife, Yet human myth, it keeps its life!

Raamesh Gowri Raghavan I, Bloated ego, single eye, Man, woman or gamergate, In their genes I read their fate! (A gamergate is an ant who lays eggs and runs the colony in the absence of a true queen. I studied ant behaviour before trying to do the human genetics I do now.)