Innocent Anarchist, Ashok aatreya [rom com books to read .TXT] 📗

from the day the golden egg the cosmos came into existence and
Changed different forms and meanings
From the day the earth was freed saved and settled
By the Boar-god
From the demon Hiranyakhsa
From the day the life and death appeared
From the day the first war was fought between good and bad

And from the day the good begot good and evil begot evil
From the day the human race emerged
From the day the dynasties of Sun and Moon began
And civilizations took roots
From the day nature itself rejoiced and revenged
The auspicious and inauspicious happened
To this day
Today I am seeing the wheel moving
Singing a song ‘ Chareiveti…chareiveti…chareiveti

And in the witness and commemoration
I also grounded a pole
For the ‘edification of masses’
Or in crises or in confusion or in absurdity
In that relentless ethical war or worship or meaningless struggle
As a duty bound postman delivers letters
As a wounded soldier embrace the motherland when falls
Priest sermons a psychopath suffers
A poet jewels words or a stalker captures the prey
(Sorry I didn’t know what exactly my identity was at that moment)
(But I knew it very well; I was not a pantheon or a crusader)

The pole was enough for me
A wooden pole
Called in ‘Vedic’ term a Yoop
My yoop was without any association of a horse
As I did not intend to sacrifice the poor animal
In the name of ‘Aswamedh.’

My pole was hollow without any flag or insignias
But it was decorated with innumerable feathers of peacocks
Representing a hill god
It was an installation in my drawing room
No act of reliquary

As the place was lonesome
And cut from the masses
It only bounced my lonely heart
My mind moved in roaring success

As if some rivulet appeared on my head
But they did not feel or care as it was not a ritual or a myth
Perhaps my angst for words was an act of infringement for them
My ‘ingenuity was a hoax-call against their masquerading behavior
I attempted in distress to meet the long lost beloved the freedom
Declaring I was still alive
Seeking poetic license to embroider a tale of hope

But to my utmost surprise and in reaction soon the world changed
From earth to sky everything was possessed by evil forces
Distorted and displaced gods –goddesses in bad shape
Weeping laughing dancing perspiring
Running in the smoky sky covered by bloody rains and crying clouds
Informing of the loots and blood-shed
Throwing flags and war-weapons in surrendering postures
Their heads sunk in distress
NO…NO…NO
WAIT…WAIT…WAIT
Who said it silently?
I don’t know

…Perhaps it all started with my birth
Or with the pole
Not always…some time far away
Was it again a blasphemy?
Or a blandishment
Or a point of no return

I whispered and the play began again
I was surrounded by clouds and hills
Lost in dust light darkness
By animals birds trees house and huts and hospitals
In men and women
I saw such creatures never on earth
An inner jungle opened in me
I closed all doors and windows of cunning passages and corridors of life
A new intimate flow of emotions and intellect
Changed shapes size images memories
All was like a war unending
The geography history the map and the men
The trees and rivers repeating life and its shadows
Murmuring sound of my shoes mixed with the memories of gods
Gandhi or Goudsay or a gorilla
The dead ‘mummy’ show-cased for years
‘Ramayan’ wrapped in red cloth in kabadi market
Gods’ goddesses’ leaders patriots temple mosque gurudwara church
In broken glass frame thrown out of window in dustbin
Kalam’s thinking hut destroyed to protect the imperial grandeur
Kite-flying and masturbation running to-gather keeping in view the next door woman
House lizards and pigeons in copulation tricolor in the hand of a child inverted
The broken spring board of bicycle hanging over the red petticoat or ‘Langoat’
Making no sense
Suddenly become alive and meaningful
In the permutation and combination of words and images
In contrast of colors and spaces
In contingency plan of poetic diction or a story yet unexplored or told

I thought about the age of my grand mother when she died
I thought about the bed of river dried
About the irregular period of my beloved
Ascendant of my horoscope afflicted in the seventh house
I thought about the palmistry and the mound of Venus and the last kiss taken illegally
On the last election day
I thought about the martyrs who gave their lives
I thought again and again about the dead wall cloak the unused Hammer
Three empty bottles of ‘Bhringaraj’ oil and the old and gold microphone’ Choodibaja’
Left unattended for years
I also thought about the vote-bank the poor folks without any reference
Or frame-work this moment

I Often thought about the dialog between the two individuals:Whether it disturbed me in Purohitji ka katala or in Ravi-studio…whether it excited me with Banarasi baee or provoked me in the company of Tanoo maharaja or in national anthem behind the class mate right palm in the trouser connecting something privately…no clouds


the trousers please ! The matter of investigation was a matter related to leisure time theory which I never wanted to understand …no please for god’s sake no words of battle anywhere any more)
I thought about the possibilities of other space or time
About the death of my father or mother or a friend or a terrorist
A godly man or a thief
Whom I should hold responsible for all that is happening?
Whom to connect or disconnect?
ALL born would one day perish

Fire burns their sins
Their attachments their commitments obligations
Until and unless they travel inwards truly
And that is perhaps the most unknown path
May be most obscured
But the only way…they again and again assure
Time is not a roller-cast they say
Time is progressive they say
Time is in circle they say

But time is not life
Absolutely
And my dear friend the trouble is with life
Which never fits in the heavenly attire?
Or in hellish justice
It is for paupers for nou-veau riches both
It meets at any point of time like hackers in cyber space

And in the game of life
I and you and everyone is alone
All strangely sunk
Nobody knows where
All roads eternally closed crowded webbed by murderers’ opium addicts’
Rapists’ politicians magicians prostitutes and poets
All in one line to be hanged their sinful act disclosed
Everyone to meet the same end
No small or big no good or bad no one in prayer or heinous act saved
If called
No mercy petition no bribe no intelligence no emotion nothing goes with it
But the bare life meaningless
To be taken and buried in the remotest reach

To be hidden and kept in unbroken lock
To be taken or not taken
To be touched or left
To be seen or unseen


To be or not to be
We may only humbly feel the gravely beautiful teeth
That death advance and embrace us all without discrimination
And when everyone is without shelter
The showy silent fleets enter the lonely chamber
And in a bustle take
All lively things away except the swollen existence
All that was hidden for years plundered
All that was epitomized in the name of name and fame in memories in love in hatred In perseverance in perversion in hic-cups of poetry art religion culture in transition
All like shattered dream of a plonker

Nobody is prepared for that game
Everyone wants one minuter
But that all proves mere luxury
The soil the water the fire the air the sky the mind the intellect the ego
All pervading
As far as light
As close as darkness
And meaningless
No deity no spirit no installation no formulae no ritual
No mediation no repetition of incantation
No ceremony no language no Mudra no gesture help
All stories told and untold conveyed or not conveyed all the Navarasas
Become poor man’s dream
Giving no clues

Whatever seen heard experienced prayed thought of indicative of future
Arising out of human sensibility
Becoming urine of a frightened horse employed for ‘Yagnya’.
The passing clouds break forth acidic rain inauspicious delivery
Dogs and jackals howl to the right of the ‘Yagnya mandap’.
All temples closing the doors
Declaring death of the main priest
Widows weeping striking against the door
The journey withdrawn
Yes the vigorous fight between the good and bad
End still undecided.
Nobody can win this game by power and thought alone
Or by mercy or grace or hollow rejoice
The lid covered by gold and always in unknown hands
Surrounded by venomous snakes
Call for great sacrifice…

Good if we do not epitomize all that
Good if we look back
Good if we remain silent spectator

Good if we search anything under the Parquet
Good if we forget our follies or parodies
Good if we keep away from universal evil eye and black tongue
Good if we forget sorrows and generate cheerfulness
Good we attempt to open the golden lid

And for that let us search for Adi Ganga flowing unruffled in us
Slow even motionless
Catch hold of it
Becoming free from all baffled despair
Do you know from where it is coming?
Meditate rise and see what is above
She is all pervading
Pervading cosmos
Help help help
Fulfill the dream
Observe but in silence
All bunches of trees of ‘Tamas’ are fallen

The heavy-storm of ego is over
The darkness of hell is diffused
Plunge plunge plunge
Hear sounds of crickets
Hear sound of drum beats rumbling of dark clouds conch shell bell and flute
Touch the nucleus of energy
Feel a fountain opening
The sacred touch of stream
Washing all dirt
Sacrifice sacrifice sacrifice
Take deep dip in the purest water of divinity
And get the blissful embrace and motherly love

But for the god sake don’t be in a hurry
It’s not a call from any market Guru or lady of easy virtue
No management funda no magical solution no absurd slogan no lack lustre subject
Beware my friend of wolves in lamb’s clothing’s
At the time of mortal agony anything can happen
Hence wait wait and wait
Watch like a dog
See like a vulture

Listen like deer
Live like fish in water
Sacrifice selflessly like a moth in the fire.

The call is eternal and it is not for monkey tricks.
Feel you are in a fresh lease of life

But have ghost of a chance
And over and over again surrounded by black foxes and pimps
Seeking opportune time everywhere
Be aware you are your own enemy
Be sure you run a risk of pillage
Be aware if you are in hodgepodge situation and no Coventry to support

No doubt the situation is bitchy
Yet not out of control
Nostalgia is not over
And people are fed-up of unkind and scurrilous gossips
So sooner is better
Let’s start again
Again and again
Against the stream

From the point of no return
This is the only spirited moment of a maverick traveler
When the entire crowd is busy