The Master Wit

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The DSC awards for South Asian Literature has announced its long list. My friend K.R.Meera’s book- The Poison of Love- is in the long list of 13 books selected by an eminent jury. I am thrilled that her  amazing talent as a writer has yet again been recognised.( I have lost count of the number of awards she has already won:) I am also happy that my role as a translator has been recognised.

My job takes me to very traumatising places at times. Like a place of suicide. A severed head  and torso- lifeless-of what once was a very brilliant young man. When you stand looking at the gory remains of a human body, you realise yet again the futility of ego. The way death beckons with a loving smile. Love can be poisonous. It can tempt people into twisted ways of paying back. I have experienced it in my own life. Is it love at all?  Isn’t that sort of love rather evil?

Perhaps as Gibran’s Prophet explained: ‘.. For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst.Verily when good  is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves and when it thirsts, it drinks even of dead waters…’

I see the ripples of love turned poisonous in both the lifeless body now firmly etched in my memory and in Meera’s iconic novella. Tulsi epitomises the peculiar way women can sometimes love. Men too, for that matter. The theme is universal and yet so enlivened by traditional montages and nuances. The human mind is the greatest mystery ever created by The Lord.

I think the Lord has a taste for black humour at times.He has taught me once again that He is the master wit of them all.

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For Brothers

Very few are gifted with brothers. And still less with brothers as wonderful as mine.

Who or what is a brother? Does he have to share your parents? Can any human being suddenly become a brother? Lord Ram gave Hanuman that great glory when he said, ‘You are as dear as Bharat to me.’

This Raksha Bandan, let me toast the brothers in my life.

 

When you falter,  there is his steady hand

When you fail,  there is his encouraging word

When you struggle, there is his quiet support

When you cry, there is his strong shoulder

When you get up, there is his proud smile

When you walk on, there is his victory sign

When you win, there is his warm laughter.

When there is suffering, moments of intense grief

You reach out and call –

My brother! And he is there.

Till the path ends, till the gate closes

Let us then walk together.

Till the next story scripted by

The master author, sees us

Again, as sister and brother

Let us walk

Quietly together.

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