AR speaketh...

The questions, the answers, the thoughts, the ideas and the other crap that make me, well, me.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

From Bad to Verse and Now (How)?

Foreword: So, I have gone from dishing out crap to actually writing “sensitive” verse. What next? Am I maturing as a writer and finding hitherto unexplored genres interesting? Should you expect a romance novella next? Maybe, one that ends in a tragedy? Or maybe, a sensitive portrayal of the new age man finding his feet in a world of changing perceptions and looking to women for guidance? (HAHAHAHAHA, I laughed so hard at that one, my saliva ran up my nose). Actually, none of these. The poem was just a passing fancy. Besides, I have authored a few unprintable ones in my time and just thought of including one on the blog, for better or for verse. And its that time of the year again when I’m just loaded with work and have nothing interesting to write about. But fear not, even when I’m so hard pressed, I think of you, loyal reader (please don’t mention the kidnapping and sedation now).

I was throwing out some junk the other day and came across this piece I had written a few years ago. I realized it was not just sufficient to throw it in the garbage in the real world, and decided to do so in the virtual one as well. Therefore I am putting it up here. (That, incidentally, is called a self-deprecating sense of humour. Works great with the chicks. See, there’s never a moment when you don’t learn something from this blog. I should probably rename it “The Temple of Sophia”.) In those days I took myself seriously as a writer and some of that presumption (now that presumption is very different from this one) can clearly be seen in it. I was in the process of self-discovery (yak yak yak) and very close to finding the genre that would be my true calling (which, as you all know, is crap). Anyway, see if you can take back a lesson or two and/or notice the beginnings of extreme irreverence here.

A Father to Son talk

The young eagle had called on his old father early in the morning. They sat like they had often done, father on a slightly raised branch and the son beneath. The times, though, were not quite the same: the father was no longer the strong vital eagle he had once been and the son, too, was no longer a fledgling, having matured into a fully-grown eagle.

As they sat today, with the sun’s slanting rays just about beginning to reach them, the son knew that this would be the most important talk they would ever have. More important, even, than the one when the father had taught him to capture a darting rabbit. He recalled, fondly, the many times when they had had similar meetings discussing the best ways to catch rats, moles, wild rabbits and sometimes, snakes. He remembered the rush he had felt when he had caught his first mole. He would dream of the day when he would grow up to be like his father, hunting majestically. The day had indeed come and he had set out to make a mark for himself.

But all was not well and this was what the meeting was about. The father opened his eyes and looked tenderly at his son, proud at what he had grown into. The son let him savour the moment and then spoke, “Father, I need your advice. My life does not seem to be going anywhere. When I was a kid…” At this time the father broke in, “you were never a kid son. A kid is a young goat and bleats. You were an eaglet, and look at what a fine eagle you have become.”

“Yes, sorry. When I was an eaglet, I could not wait to grow up and hunt for myself. I thought I would love every moment of it and never tire of it. It was so, quite so, for some time. But now I hardly feel like hunting. Sometimes I even think of turning vegetarian.” The father gave an involuntary shudder at this blasphemous thought and spoke as his father had once done. “What you are going through is not unnatural, though the turning vegetarian seems peculiar to your generation. It is natural eagle tendency to wish to be something you are not. Hence your wish to grow up quickly. Add to that, what you perceived as freedom of the grown-ups. You couldn’t wait till your wings were strong enough to support you and once they were, there was no looking back. You are a magnificent flier and I must say, you’ve done quite well for yourself. But now you have grown used to what you do. As a child, to your romantic imagination, hunting and flying were important and perhaps symbolic of maturity and fulfillment. Your life as you lead it now has become a chore for you. You have realized the futility of flying to the moon (your childhood ambition) and go where no eagle has gone before. (Despite his obvious wisdom, the father was not aware that the part of Apollo 11 that landed on the moon was called Eagle.) Son, when we lose our dreams to reality, disillusionment sets in and that is what is wrong with you. You have realized that your childhood dreams were just that and there is a void in your life now. Ordinarily, that is a temporary phase before you settle down with a family. Then the daily grind becomes meaningful, as a means to provide for your loved ones. But I don’t want that to happen with you. I want you to lead a wholesome life with your family being the support while you pursue your dreams, not an excuse to surrender to reality. Like the great white eagle said, when your dreams dash to the ground, pick up the pieces and construct your reality with them. Your reality will retain the colour of your dreams and the fragrance of your innocence.

The point, son, is that your life needs a new dream. All your old ones are either achieved or unachievable. You need new ones that will inspire you to live your present to the fullest. Just be honest to yourself. Dream away and let your wings beat only to achieve them. Then happiness will be yours.”

The son sat deep in thought. Finally he smiled and thanked his father and flew off. On the way, he remembered his father’s parting words, “And yes, when you sing, sing at the top of your voice and when you dance, dance like no one’s watching. ”


P.S.: I can’t believe the father didn’t include “when in doubt, hold your fart” in his parting words.

P.P.S.: And I can’t believe no one added a comment to the previous post saying “from bad to verse (or maybe worse)”!

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