31 August 2015

Shattered

Of extended distended metaphors
and foolish pathetic fallacies
a bandwagon of shared-knowledge fantasies
and withering glittering generalities -
that a drunk oxymoron questioned,
rhetorically, in anaphoric verse:
"Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?"

And there came a sinister cosmic reply
ricocheting hyperbolically off the edges of the universe
in manic depressive laughter-laced prose:
"Why not? Why not? Why not? Why not? Why not?"

But at least it was free of the
terrifying, petrifying, de-carbonated, dehydrating
sound of silence.

And when the Fool had committed his
extra-vigilant folly
of seeking cosmic significance in
a grain of sand -
Infinity and Eternity cried out
in gut-wrenching camaraderie
in a crescendo of heart-wrecking agony
torn from the bleeding lips of a scattered soul:
"Take this simile and toss it
For it is shattered and cannot be fixed!"



30 August 2015

Unbalanced Equation

Words choke the pen's ink, when
hope and silence the pillars
of an uncertain edifice
support an insecure façade
the frontpiece of a hollow,
empty space, with
drooping dead-end eaves
a quagmire for a patio, with
a pain-wrought portcullis
the restless garden oft absent, and
flowers of bizarre purple prose people
beds of tectonic rifts
surrounded by deep ravines
gullied pathways,

each step fraught with the risk
of further friction with truth -
Where does this monument begin
or end? - with folly or without it -
where angels fear to tread
and fools rush in to claim
a falsified paradise
robbed of faith and knowledge
where emotions run riot, ravage, plunder,
destroy, raze to the ground
an unexpected one-way street and
an unbalanced equation
belie the nature of knowledge
deny the coherence of truth.



23 August 2015

Compelled by Passion

The Making of Raju's Story

Actors flit about like shadows on the worldly stage but in the playing area, bring the strangest characters to complete and vibrant life.

Habitually living from moment to moment, a week - seven days - can feel like seven months or seven years. In a good way, of course. And there is the downside. So, for me, the hiatus from Theatre-in-Education (TIE) that has lasted eight years has felt like the eternal wait for love to strike as lightning might - an impossible dream and unbelievable hope, both rather unsteady companions. But patience and a coming together with the cosmic forces of Harshita and Pavan (yes, in that order), quite literally in corridors, and the ActIII TiE company was born.

Harshita: I really miss acting! And living here… what can I do? How can I even become a part of a group or play?
Me: You want to do TIE?
Harshita: Yes, yes! When, where, what?

The dialogue was set outside the main doors of Takshshila and with a promise made, we decided to attend the Blah-Blah-Blah TiE Company's workshop in SBS, Noida.

And a couple of days later, standing in the Atrium, Pavan was reminiscing about the play he put together for Ubuntu last year.

Pavan: I miss theatre! I really want to do more theatre. I want to act!
Me: You want to do TIE?
Pavan: Which is….?
Me: Participatory theatre. Experiential. Sometimes the audience is inside the play…
Pavan: Yes, yes, please, let's!

And the cosmic force Harshita just happened to be walking past just at that moment… Coincidence? Grand plan? Who cares?

The three of us are actors and educators, both vocations of great passion, and therefore in our burning hearths or passionate hearts lie the embryos of endless possibility.

So, compelled equally by our passion for theatre and for education, with the blessing of Sumit and Arvind, we trotted off to Noida on a hot day in May and spent a magical day with a group of incredible people - well, anyone moved to such an extent by passion has to be incredible!

There is one word that can sum up TIE in its entirety - MAGIC! What we create, together with the audience, is sheer, unadulterated MAGIC. No one can walk out of a TIE experience untouched by the magic, unchanged by the wonder - not the audience, nor the facilitator, and definitely not the actor.

Without giving away too much of the story, Raju came alive in our minds as we grappled with a History unit for Grade 8. "A young boy, just like you, only born in a different context, but who has your dreams, your hopes, your aspirations…" And why not?

Through evenings and weekends we bonded, improvised, rehearsed, scripted and planned. Like I said, compelled by passion, we did not begrudge our free time for this work. After school we would appear in the AV Room like wet and jaded dishrags but leave after two hours bouncing and airborne like helium balloons. It helped that we got along famously, were mature enough to immediately resolve differences of opinion, really and truly listened to each other, and left our egos outside the door with our shoes.

On the eve of our very first (of many!) productions, I salute the creative genius of my two partners in this crime (!) of passion - Harshita, Pavan, long live this Act (of) III!


21 August 2015

Obituary

Drop by sanguine drop as passion
Leaked out of the heart
When the text did not ring through
the phone, the hollowing heart echoed
The tolling silence of the call never made
With the resounding absence of meetings
that never took place

and the heart, in memoriam, spoke out -
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: "la brisa es un céfiro
Y el viento quiso, lo mucho que queriá que estuvieras aqui…
Pero el viento es destrozado porque no estás conmigo."

For as you juggled work, home and seraglio
the heart grew cold on the reserve bench
As crevice and chink let through
Every last drop of desire that dissolved
into the nothingness from which it came.

For love is not an easy thing
there's only so much baggage that you can bring
But for you, there's nothing you can leave behind
so love is now impossible to find...

And the stilled heart sits vacuous
Not shattered, not destroyed, not even
Broken -
Just emptily writing,
"y estos son las últimas lineas que escribo para ti."



17 August 2015

Acrostically Yours

Beautiful rainbow stretches heaven's door
Underneath an azure aquamarine sky
Laughs at cosmic satires writ by day
Leisurely walks, through awakened nights that lie.
Sometimes a wanton flower blooms starry
High above misty mornings of rain
Invisible, incredible, indeed delectable
The taste of dawn on a tongue-tip again.

Gushing forth effusively a word takes shape
And follows verse upon verse of magic stanza.
Love writes a tale with futile wit
Of fireworks, starburst shooting star extravaganza.
Rehearses the ageless myth of one
Echoes soulful songs long after they are done.




15 August 2015

Sugar Prince

Sugar Prince, fragrant like spring's first sweetpea
blanketing warmth of a sudden rainy day
soft chattering of a mountain streamlet flowing
warm brown look of a lover's eyes
the infinite sweetness of tongues entwined
the roughness of silk on skin gone wild
burn with a flame lit up by the soul
as Zephirus brings the softest song on flight.
Sugar Prince, in a sugar pot, do you dissolve
in the gentlest rain of the early fall?
And strive to keep your crazy life indivisible
again and yet again render me invisible?
With you, without you, it's all the same
though Fantasy weaves a melody arcane.

Sugar Prince, turn the clock back now, walk away -
I wish I could, I hope I may.
Or turn time back to when we were innocent
to a time before the infinity misspent
searching for love in the weirdest places
seeking solace in the arms of strangers
foraging for peace in war-torn lands
digging for rain in desolate, barren sands
hoping for warmth in a chilling winter sun
desperate for places to hide and run -
If I could, I surely would, let it go, back
fill up your life, take away want and lack.
But Sugar Prince, to real love you close your heart
these steely shutters keep you and your clandestiny apart.


14 August 2015

Random Pond

If you go to a random pond
and expect to find wine
You'd better be Jesus or be
Disappointed nine times nine -

At best you will find some pond-scum
mistake algae for the beginning of life
mistake algae for chrysanthemums
cut your heart open with a knife -

sink like a stone to a muddy pond-bed
fall from grace in your own eyes
stagnant water smarts the tears
but the tears fail to make you wise…

Confucius he say sing not of desire,
only the goddamned child fears not fire.


13 August 2015

Time Out in a Space-Time Bubble

09 August 2015
19:33

"It's the first day of school, it's freaking me out…" from Undercover written by the Class of 2015 when some of them were still shorter than me (Grade 7)… I caught myself humming the tune as I made my way out of the usual bubble I occupy into a brave new (ad)venture.

Just outside the back gate, "I'll send the leopard your way," I called out to Ila and Namita, as they braved the elements in the holy quest of good health. 7:15 a.m. on the clock face and I was on my way to the Univ for my first day of Master's in English Literature.

Within seconds it was coming down in sheets (poor Ila, Namita, I thought, will be like drowned rats). Considered ditching the metro plan and driving all the way. Nah, veto, take the metro. Get more reading time.

The metro was crowded (for a Sunday??) but I found a place, pulled out said reading material, and sank into it. When the low-pitched emotionless voice articulated perfectly the name of a particular metro station, I surfaced for a bit as the memory of a recent magical day spent at a place nearby slipped in cautiously. I smiled faintly at the thought of how a moment can stretch to eternity and yet never quite reach out and touch infinity, how if wishes were horses…

About an hour later, absorbed in Benjamin's Reflections, nearly missed my station! [Yes, this has happened before!] Grabbed umbrella, the bag, the other bag, and jumped through closing doors.

And met the deluge. The Sky poured onto the Earth, and she, not to be coy, rose up to meet him in an embrace that rivaled every fairy tale. Through this Marriage of Earth and Sky, a brave young warrior on a three-wheeled iron horse drove, not even attempting to stay dry [and while I saluted his bravado, I realized that it was the greatest need of all that drove him - food, shelter…]… while I clutched at an ineffectual umbrella trying to hold it over both of us, drenching water met wet clothes from all four directions. Then the splash from passing cars that did not have the courtesy to slow down but ah, what difference would that have made anyway?

Twenty minutes late, dripping a river in my wake, I paused in the doorway, smiling at old friend, Sharada Akka, who was well-settled into her lecture already. Without pausing or even breaking thought she smiled back, said, "Hi, Anubha!" and waved me to a seat.

That was the first lecture where Solas met Sentence, Chaucer did not pass judgement on the Wyf of Bath and Aristotle did his Poetic thing. A soul starved for such a delectable confectionery of words, phrases, idioms and verse, an hour floated past, two hours, and a second lecture that was evenly peppered with philosophy, humour and very useful trivia on how to clear the unreasonable NET exam. Did you know, for example, how many plays Shakespeare wrote, and that three of them were classified as "Problem Plays"? Very important for a future educator to know such stuff!

The director of NCWEB showed up during a lecture, told us to elect a class rep, and appoint some spies (really?!) who would go and check out how the courses were being taught in the Department. She also ordered us to work hard and get Univ positions before smiling sweetly and letting us know when and where we could find her if we had a problem.

Off I trotted for lunch with old friend and long-term soulmate, PK, who had promised to cook me an allergen-free meal. Of course, I ended up bunking lesson 3, all under the heading of "If you don't bunk a few, what's the point of going back to Univ?"

PK looked up from the frying pan and immediately launched into "I finally read your blog, babe, and I was completely (blown away? I thought, hopefully) - you know, your seven degrees of separation made me think; but the seven degrees of togetherness had a lot of bunk!"

Moved to defend my thesis I retorted, "Well degrees 1 to 4 I have witnessed! And degree 5 is documented by none other than A. Maslow! The rest, yes… possibly bunk!"

In short, we caught up on everything and he spared me another drenching by dropping me back.

Once there, I walked up to two extremely young people and asked, "So did you attend the third lesson? What did I miss?"

"A really handsome guy," one of them replied.

Jesus! What rotten luck! But the grapes are sour, remember? "I bet he's about half my age," I remarked.

"Oh no, no, not at all. You'll like him. He's about 30 years old."

That moment when you employ a mental meme with the strangely shaped smile!

And in spite of the aesthetic appeal of the lecturer (or because of it?) she had five pages of notes to share….

Lecture 4 was equally enchanting, the prof anatomized the Anatomy of Melancholy within an hour and a bit, leaving us speechless when he concluded, "That's it for this text. Next week we will take up Jonson's Alchemist." True efficiency!

The rain had mercifully stopped - but the bizarre had not - and I found myself offering a tampon in lieu of an s.t. to a complete stranger (well, she was in my class but we hadn't even exchanged names!) and instructing her on how to use it. [Ahem, since Kiran Gandhi, I now feel able and willing to reveal all such stuff - feel almost duty-bound to do so, actually.] The discovery of Crystal, the famous photocopy place with solutions to all courses, and coffee with PK, and the metro again in rapid succession.

As I pulled out my book, a young girl seated next to me asked, "Is this a book about science?" Not really, though can we really classify…? "Oh, I thought it was about science because it is called reflections." That meme again! Thereafter, she proceeded to read each page with me with such absorbed intensity that (I am certain) had her stop been further away she would've engaged me in deep discussion.

Finally, I suddenly realized that another young woman on the other side had felt comfortable enough to use my shoulder as her pillow as she caught up on her beauty sleep. These are the little joys of travelling by the metro! You actually meet hang-up free, real, people.

Not that my usual bubble is devoid of them, but you know what I mean.

As I drove into school just a little while ago, I realized that I have prep next Sunday and so will need to hotfoot it back immediately after class. And now, to make the most of time, I will open the Crystal-provided Paper No. 103 Literature (sic) Criticism-1 - starting with good old friend, Plato, and ending with Matthew Arnold. And I have to confess, although I will be condemned by all my kids (distraught as they are with the IBDP), that this so exciting that blood rushes about, adrenaline pours, and I will spare you the rest of the purple prose! 



06 August 2015

No Holds Barred

In love, sometimes, there are no holds barred -
there is the cling, the grasp, the hug, the clutch,
But sometimes what firmly holds the heart
is a tender smile and the gentlest touch.

No holds barred in a romantic clasp,
Awash with fantasy, or the fabric of dreams;
But reach out and give rather than grasp -
Light up the night sky with brilliant moonbeams.

When in a no-holds-barred love match we play,
And sometimes the heart writes a profound love song,
Perhaps the heart of darkness can be lifted away;
But mostly letting go makes it strong.

So clinging, grasping, clutching I eschew
No holds are needed if this love indeed is true.




Though the Dark

For Ridhima

No one and nothing in this world is worthy 
of these precious, pearly tears you shed
the carnage of your heart so stark in your eyes I see
with lost perplexity, this sweeping dread

of shutters on your heart that cries out for a friend
baffled at how they left you high and dry
without a hand to hold, a devastating dead-end
and with all your soul, you wonder why -

The pain you feel won't let you speak
swindled of words you wonder where to begin
through tight-shut eyes this burden does leak
syllables betray you, steeped now in chagrin.

But alone you are not and never will be
Though the dark that besieges is as deep as the sea.


04 August 2015

The Seven Degrees of Togetherness

An Honest Exploration

Let me begin by writing that of all the people in the world, I am the least qualified to speak about togetherness! I have aced the art of separation, created vast spaces and impenetrable walls against all my partners with unsurpassable ease. To remain in a consummated relationship for a great length of time has been the most difficult task for me. I think it has something big to do with being honest (or as honest as possible!) to myself and the other, and expecting the same in return. But more on this later.

However, having bought into the (perhaps social) expectation of togetherness, the idea of how relationships evolve (as opposed to dissolve explored in an earlier post, The Seven Degrees of Separation), thoughts of its various stages have been plaguing me. Here is a tentative but honest exploration of how people come together and sometimes stay together….

Chemistry: Stage one is more about chemistry than anything else. This applies not only to romantic relationships but often to friendships as well. The chemistry between people (pheromones or something like that?) predefines just how close they will get to each other. Otherwise known as "attraction". The heart gives that extra hard kick when the person enters the room. The stomach churns in more extreme cases! Excitement pervades when the caller ID on the phone displays his/her name. You hesitate to delete texts because they are testimonies to these grand feelings. In toto, this is indeed the Garden of Eden. You feel alive, look forward to the morning because each day holds the promise of something fantastic waiting to happen to you.

On the other hand, some people I have met are chemical junkies in the sense of really needing the high of the early stages of a romance, repeatedly. These flitters from flower to flower, fulfilling a deep-set need for the excitement brought on by falling in love are often in love with the idea of being in love. For others, attraction paves the way to the next stage.

Biology: Stage two involves physicality…. A higher form of drug is involved here, oxytocin, that really, really, feel-good chemical! Ah, the deep-felt pleasure of just holding someone in your arms! The unparalleled joy of kissing… Allow me, though, to halt the narrative here and not become more graphic than this: it is being posted on a child-safe blog… Let your imagination supply the rest of the story.

Luckily for the rapidly increasing world population, many are self-aware enough to stop at Stage two and rewind and repeat from Stage one - albeit with a different person. They ensure that protection is used during what I shall euphemistically call "the act" so that they are not led or forced into the next stage.

On the other hand, this stage easily, and sometimes erroneously, slides into the next stage, almost as though the next step to "the act" should be co-habitation. Perhaps this sounds cynical. But it is not meant to be… really, what happens is that Patriarchman strikes! "The act" can lead to children, and that Very Evil Villain tries to ensure that paternity tests are made redundant by tying the couple together and throwing them into a place they are forced to share…. Hence, all the metaphors of bondage used for marriage - tying the knot, deep bond, etc. The bangles women wear, the rings that both genders sport, to the sindoor/bindi on the forehead - all symbols of bondage and branding rendered necessary by the outdated institution of marriage spawned by patriarchal ideals that sought and still seek to "keep it in the family".

Geography: Stage three must involve co-habitation for how else do you ensure that "your children are (really) your children"?? (Apologies… this post is sounding more cynical with each phrase. But bear with my exploration till I get to the later stages.) Biologically, the human species has not evolved enough to be a single-partner animal and yet, while we write "fidelity" into the marriage vows, we cleverly leave out "honesty" in tacit acknowledgement of our basically wandering attention spans. This is under the heading of "What S/he Doesn't Know, Won't Hurt".

Then, of course, there is fidelity and there is Fidelity. Is it really possible for one person to never again be attracted to another person, that is, a person other than the partner, till death do them part? And, if you feel an attraction, entertain even the slightest fantasy about another, does the word still apply? Perhaps there is only an exchange of looks, texts, words, even moments - all platonic but underlined by attraction - so at which point do you deem that you have crossed the line? Certainly "the act" is a no-no, but is a fantasy not equally disloyal, a dream or a thought equally infidel?

Anyhow, the act of co-habitation can be just as exciting as the two earlier stages - building a dream home together, bringing children into the world. And if it doesn't go off the rails, people do go onto the next stage to experience even greater heights of togetherness.

Within this beautiful togetherness await the seeds of separation, for sharing a space can be one of the most difficult acts for some people. Especially small spaces with little elbow room. I sometimes feel that earlier cultures had something right in that each person had a private space which did not essentially need to be a shared living space. It is only when you have to share a space with someone does compatibility play a larger-than-life role.

The other, sometimes insurmountable, issue between couples is how to bring up their children. Whether we wish to or not, most us replay the scripts our parents wrote while parenting us. Children of liberal parents grow up to be accessible and understanding. So, what if you become stuck in a co-parenting situation with someone with the opposite views? Thunder and lightning; enter three witches: Contention, Conflict and Combat. You may be able to agree to disagree about what type of sofa upholstery to buy for the drawing room. But rarely are people able to give up the idea of what they think is best for their children.

History: Stage four, reached by many (in case the picture emerging is too dismal) is a whole story written together with shared experiences. So actually it is not just His-story or Her-story but Their-story. This is possibly the greatest part of togetherness - to create memories together, to live moments in which the deep sharing of joy enhances the feeling, elevates it beyond the imaginable. Ah, those Kodak moments!

But once more the greatest force of evil, Lord Incompatibility, vampire-like, sucks out this potential joy. The possibilities of how shared experiences can fill lives with pain need not be enumerated here.

Empathy: Stage five is akin to communion, Maslow's third rung of needs, the need for intimacy. As my friend and mentor, Dr Shelja Sen, described it recently (in differentiating between Sympathy and Empathy), "empathy is when someone is sitting in a dark room and you are willing to sit in the dark with him or her". Empathy is the stage in which D-Needs intersect with B-Needs, elevating the relationship from just sharing experiences to really sharing a life. Personally, I don't think it is important to even co-habit to be able to get here. The connection is so strong that it outstrips hurdles like time, distance, jobs and other everyday pressing needs. Empathy does not need domesticity for its breeding grounds.

Curiously, I have skipped stages 1 to 4 and gone straight to 5 with innumerable friends… all platonic friendships. But I cannot lay claim to having had even a single relationship that got to this stage. I have dated murderers, psychopaths and saints, but not even with the best of souls can I feel that the relationship got to a place of true intimacy. Perhaps this is the only reason I still search… Maybe before I die I will be able to have one, just one, relationship that doesn't go wrong and reaches the highest degree of togetherness. Or at least this degree.

As you can see, the cynical undertone disappears as the truly meaningful degree emerges. The first four stages are wonderful to be in but I have never failed to wonder why people mistake those for togetherness beyond proximity.

Fusion: One soul, one goal, honesty, trust, empathy, respect, sharing, loving oneself as much as one loves the other… Stage six is made of all this and more. When I write one goal I don't mean sharing a venture (although that can certainly happen) but the peace that lives in those spaces where conflict or fear have no place. Here is where honesty becomes the foundation stone, with trust building the edifice using bricks of empathy and respect. The sharing then comes completely from the heart and soul. Neither fears that the other will misunderstand, judge or react to anything one says or does. Sounds idealistic? Perhaps it is. But I know couples like this, I love and admire their togetherness, I aspire to reach the same degree… And yet, the essential idea here is the lack of fear, born from the fecundity of honesty and trust that even if the other disagrees there is a safe space in which to find common ground. Fusion.

Infinity: Forever. Not so much happily-ever-after as being able to experience forever moments with the other. My grandparents. Married at a very young age but completely in love and besotted till the day she passed away, even beyond. I have seen the tenderness in their eyes for each other. Both on different sides of the bed with me in between, reading quietly, separate books but as one…

And even without having had a single successful relationship, I know what this can feel like. Lying in a bed holding each other with just the moonlight for cover. Leaning against a tree, both staring out at a gentle river, breathing in the quiet of a pine forest. Walking through the Ridge, crunching the gravel underfoot, softly talking about everything under the sun. A gentle hand drawing in another to fulfil a promise made…. Yes, very few times and with vast gaps in between, I have experienced Forever, albeit fleetingly.

I know why the caged soul sings, calling out, yearning, longing for Infinity.



03 August 2015

Enough

Snatched from the jaws of crazy time
- a day spent in quiet togetherness -
poetry more profound in the soft breathing
calm more all encompassing
peace inside a shared time-capsule
a bubble perhaps of our own
but knowing constantly the nature of the bubble

ephemeral

perhaps more precious in consequence
- though what in this life is permanent? -
and each breath spent thus in an elevated state
of awareness of the other
the soft joy of a presence -
it was enough

enough to hold on to as a memory
- in times more bleak -
when silence
seeks to destroy faith in doubtlessness
unhealthy questioning of one's relevance
in the other's existence -
for if there is a never-again
this is enough

And though this story is writ
- by two authors with finesse -
in letters blurred by realities
in images out of focus
a high angle view of, perhaps,
some mid-life folly -
unlike Oliver I shall not hold out my bowl
to ask for more -
For this is enough

And though we stole just a moment from time
- held gently in the cupped hands of eternity -
to seal our love with the sweetest kiss
and though we found an infinite way
to soothe the other's pain
to return a lost, beautiful smile -
if this is the only moment of
Maslow's consummate intimacy -

it will be enough.

Chronicle of the Invading Rat

Originally written: 20 July 2012 at 18:03


It had been leaving signs all over the house - a half-eaten tomato - and object impermanence, as in things having been dislodged from their rightful perches... I wondered how big it was, but didn't really spend too much time as it kept out of my way. 


Last evening, however, I saw it for the first time. Opening a cupboard in the kitchen to take out my new tool kit - to show it to a colleague - I saw it dodge behind the LPG cylinder, double back on the other side, hop onto the gas pipe then down again. "There's a huge rat in here," I announced to Tyger and said colleague. Well, size is relative, so let me say that had I tried to pick it up, it would have filled the length of my palm from nose to the beginning of its tail... that's quite huge, right?


Thinking fast, but not fast enough, I tried to shut the cupboard door, but it was faster. It slipped out through the gap under the door and made a run for the dining room. We watched it careening around, under the sofa, before it disappeared... somewhere.


Half an hour later we had still not managed to locate it anywhere. I have to confess that each time I woke up at night I switched on the lights to check if it was in the vicinity, perhaps about to attack my toes (seriously, I'm not being paranoid; one of my HODs did get bitten by a rat and had to have rabies shots last year!).


In the morning there was still no sign of it... till I opened the cabinet under the sink to add something to the dustbin. There it was, looking at me shyly from the garbage...


At about midday, the pest control bhaiya dropped in. All he could do was to toss some rat poison into the two possible cupboards. "All the rat traps have been lent out to teachers who are still away on vacation," he informed me. "But," he reassured, "the poison should work."


I firmly shut the kitchen door and refused to have any truck with the area till the rat was evicted, dead or alive. 

In the evening, when I tried to enlist the help of the Sodexo bhaiya's, they asked for back up and reinforcements. There we were, and I was issuing instructions... "one of us will open the cupboard and shoo it out while the other three will line up here with brooms and nudge it out of the front door..." I was interrupted with, "Just give us a plastic bag and a broom. We will catch it."


"Really, seriously?" 


"Really," they said, entering the kitchen and firmly shutting me out. In the next 15 minutes (or hours? for time too is relative) all I could hear from within were crashes, bumps, banging cupboard doors... and finally, silence. Three brave men and a rat.


They emerged looking very pleased with themselves, the rat in the bag, the kitchen cleared of debris. "It's alive," they announced proudly, holding up the trophy bag. They marched out debating on what to do with it next. "Please release it outside the campus - otherwise it will find someone else's house to inhabit..." I suggested, between "Thankyous" and "really grateful".... 


As they exited the building I found myself thinking, "This is Pathways... we may have few sophisticated means and methods but we always rise to the occasion and get the job done!"


But perhaps I should get a cat...?














02 August 2015

One

Futile to hold on tight or cling to the light,
Nothing you do or say, can make the moment stay;
despite the intense flame, you can never lay claim,
nor merge your souls, but walk towards distinct goals
severed but one in a never-ending conundrum
where one begins when the other ends -

If, if only, 'twas the one true love you sealed with a kiss
and the gentle hand that drew knows its promise to keep
when arms that bound and lips fused as one -
No distance can keep you apart
Lucid words that connect the heart
Fear nor doubt, to cause a rift
No tsunami or cyclone will set you adrift...

But anything else is just not worth it.