Wednesday, 27 May 2015

Romila Thapar acknowledging my superiority as a Historian

Parvati Sen was a friend of my mother. She was doing a PhD under Romila Thapar at J.N.U. I would ask her if she had brought me any chocolates and if she said she had I'd give her my Spiderman comics to read out aloud. If she hadn't brought me any chocolates or if she showed signs of preferring to converse with my Mum about Trade Union Politics in Madras Presidency in the 1930's- which was the topic of her dissertation- I would caterwaul convulsively.
'What a horrible noise!' Parvati said, 'Does he have tummy ache?'
'No, Parvati,' my Mum replied, 'Vivek went to a Progressive School in Nairobi. He specialised in making cat like noises. Self expression is very important, you know.'
Hearing my name, I purred and began to clean myself. Mum quickly stuffed some pakoras into my mouth before my performance became too obscene.
'Mummy,' I said, 'I too want to do PhD just like Parvati. We will study together. You can pack sandwiches for us. Then we will get married.'
'But what will be the subject of your dissertation?' Parvati asked 'Cat impersonation is not taught at J.N.U.'
'Nor was it at the L.S.E,' my father spoke for me, 'But they still gave him a degree just to get rid of him. The irony is that his repeated calls to the Fire Brigade impersonating a cat stuck up Social Choice's Smullyvan truth tree could easily have been countered by Lakatos who well knew the thing was an obsolescent rhizome not a arborescent Research Program. The L.S.E's failure to appoint anyone of equal caliber after the latter's death was the reason quoted by the R.S.P.C.A in their report confirming that the L.S.E was indeed guilty of cruelty to animals by refusing to give Vivek a degree even after three years of charging us Overseas Student fees.'
'So, the R.S.P.C.A classified Vivek as an animal? That explains a lot!' Parvati said.
'The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals was set up in 1824.' my father replied, 'Fifty years later, it successfully prosecuted the first cruelty to children case after coming to the realization that a child is actually a small animal.'
'So that's settled,' I said, 'Me and Parvati will now go away to J.N.U and get our PhDs and be back in time for dinner. Kindly cook avviyal and lemon rice. Meow meow meow meow meow...'
'Enough already!' Parvati suddenly cried out, 'This isn't funny any more. Actually it's never been funny. You are the most boring and stupid person I've ever met!'
'How can that be?' I asked, feigning wounded innocence, ' Surely, Romila Thapar, who has dedicated her life to making Indian History the most boring and stupid subject in the Universe, is more boring and stupid than I? Or are you saying that I am the Guru of your Guru in boringness, stupidity and general JNU jhollawallah cattiness?'
'Of course I am!' Parvati shouted, 'Romilaji's entire oeuvre is nothing but miaow, miaow, Vivek is my Guru, miaow, miaow! Happy now?'

Since Guru is not less than Father and I am the Father of Romilaji, I couldn't marry Parvati as she was now revealed to be equivalent to my own grand-daughter.
That, I think, broke her heart.

Tuesday, 26 May 2015

The Butter-thief's oubliettes

Now Eros' ladle must, not Hestial Ignis, just Celestial Nomos feed
Its butter-thief's oubliettes are an Ouroboros indeed!
With naught to cradle nor heart to tame
Our Juliets breed without a name.

Monday, 25 May 2015

To Persephone a pratishloka

That April's Sun with heavy hand
Now  belabours Winter's tardy trainband
Shames thou, Kulashekharan, who like James the Second
Dispels not the Dryden darkness Poverty is reckoned

But, rather, like unto a butt-hole waxed and bleached
Straining at Sermons Porn will have preached
The Deaths of Timur's Captives crossing the Hindu Kush
I'd die, Mrs Bhatnagar, up thy Hindu tush.

Prince! As to Asclepius a cock & to Persephone a pratishloka
A poker up the arse is what you owe Emperor Ashoka

Tuesday, 19 May 2015

Samadhi's Wine

Since Poetry can only distinguish from Homo Erectus
Those who Salt the Mine of their own Prospectus
Nor can Pneuma, Saqi, extinguish Nomos' Rebirth
For Samadhi's wine, delve Dark Earth.

Sunday, 17 May 2015

Puliyar's mango

By what contango will Kala arrange for Kalidas to marry his Muse?
Or, Puliyar's mango the Stars derange till Shyavashva amuse?
To Parnassus, who backward plod
Half Hades the foetus of our man-child God.

Tuesday, 12 May 2015

An air is not an heir ye canny beget

Sayeth the Spendthrift, 'for thy Sovereign, thus, I attest my love'
'To- as if plucked from the forge lacking an asbestos glove-
 'I so speed it on its wanton way
'& 'gain to beg, a scarred palm display!'

A Miser, I make no reply
& should my purse strings loosen to release a sigh
My rosary I'll tighter tell
As Usury bellows Philadelphia's bell.

Midons! Reck this reckless of a Sovereign yet
An air is not an heir ye canny beget.

 The conceit in the first stanza  is based on Ghalib 67.02
ہے نازِ مفلساں زرِ از دست رفتہ پر
ہوں گل فروشِ شوخیِ داغِ کہن ہنوز

Monday, 27 April 2015

A threnody for Oberon Waugh- by an Indian changeling

Like every whilom Conspiracy against the Common Weal
Class is a gradient we too gratingly feel
Pitiable is Vatsalya, by stealth, to hoard
A Heritable Wealth, Mums scant afford

Ilk to what Columbus sought and Da Gama found
 Recking not restive Tuatha De underground
Phantom gelt, a Faerie Queene
A Virgin yet so her abortions preen.

Friendship, we are counselled to, for but Fathers, feel
Bare devotion blazons Karma's burning wheel
Fate Ixions fake propter quia patrem
So 'Monstra, Saqi, te esse Matrem'

Prince Auberon! too briefly tho' your wit had play
For three decades it kept Old Etonians at bay.