Kiss

If kiss is the stamp of love

stamp me all over,

a honey smear of love,

bright and glistening

lustier than wine

rosier than the early sun

pricier than gems and money.

If eyes are the pathways

to the inmost being,

lips are the gateways

to late winter spring.

Paint them in any shade

musk, ebony, green or red

they shine ravishing with

the touch of magic rainbow,

the lips untouched by colours

look a spray of all hues, 

nothing to take away or add .

But no feel is heavenly
like a  kiss of warm love

no feather can  ever
match its soft warmth

a liplock of true love
makes the body burn,
heart beats louder than drum
the twilight delight
overtakes the night
a moony paradise dawns
the being transcends life.

Sabita Sahu

Poet And His Reader

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Every day tons of books are sent out by publishers to the bookstalls in all major cities. Every day million or more poems are written in the world in languages of the east-west- north-south. The unseasonal snowfall and rains, the atomic threats not withstanding poets sing of their solitary anthems in free- blank- rhyming verse. International book exhibitions, lit-fests and commemoration of literary figures go on all over the world in myriad languages: Yet authors, particularly poets say the readers now shy away from poetry in particular and literature in general. What is the truth, one may ask. More and more people write poetry in all languages. The modern times are more practical and material ambitions commensurate with the opportunities dampen the indolent romantic effervescence of overflow of feelings, powerful or weak. The world today is more physical than metaphysical, more open to the new instruments of scrutiny than a speculative universe where the ’beyond’, the ‘spiritual ‘and the ‘I of an inscrutable Being’ are not suitable data for analysis or imaginative recounting by artists for the data religion. A more direct, unadorned language for easy communication is advised by all gurus in all kinds of linguistic composition. In short the world is no more the archetypal image and modern life is not the ultimate metaphor.

But the common reader is not dissuaded by the metaphorical design or labyrinth of imagery to avoid poetry: he finds not his self or his world in poetry. He lives in a world voluble, divisive and competitive. His poetry sense is satisfied in the bus-car-train where blaring music and lurid lyrics make his steps faster on to the pavements. He has no time to brood over poetic epithets or the metaphysical universe which great poetry creates. Most poetry written today are confessions of personal sorrow or loss. Hardly a poem creates an atmosphere of joy, hope or human glory. Hardly a poem speaks of love beyond unfulfilled desire. An office clerk or a babu has no time for the private worlds of mutilated hearts or wanton deprivations of rebellious self negation.

Poetry today has no mystery. The mysteries of messianic proportions have been exhausted in classical poetry. The mystery of romance and the individual’s personal salvation quest is seldom appealing. What the  modern average reader needs is to read in poetry,  anecdotes of success and encouragement to live life fully. Modern man says: no imaginary beliefs or constructs on a submissive reality. No fairy tale, give us logically acceptable imaginaries or illustrate mans mundane worth without distorting reality. The world has seen enough bloodshed, enough hunger, poverty, sickness and death. Give us dreams of immortality, dreams of well being and inspire us to fight and win. No uneasy truce with life, no compromise. Make the human being live without his rights being trampled under political authority or cowardly manipulation.

The poet, on the other hand claims his creation to be accepted with humility. He creates for his own pleasure which he thinks is objective and good for the common reader. Every man now is a poet, if not with words with designs, colours, and fanciful wishes. The Puja magazines are flooded with poetry. So many poets write! Such a variety of expression, style, imagery and experience ought to delight the reader beyond the pleasures of ordinariness. But the reader is not enthused. Why? the poet asks. May be the common reader has no sensibility or the poet like Narcissus wallows in his own image without communicating his own sensations  in terms of the readers expectations. Either the reader must consider poetry as the ultimate expression of human totality or the poet must understand the reader’s world and his human totality. We have to search for the answer to readers unresponsiveness (if at all) within the space of this either/ or. This will lead us to the limits of human intelligence and human consciousness: we must search beyond these limits.

Poetry is beyond the intelligence with which we perceive consciousness but the poet must move with the reader to attain this beyond.

When Alone ...

I reach the unreachable

birdlike I fly to map the sky,

paint the sun in different shades

to let the world enjoy the spectrum,

I turn the gears of the wind

to listen to the music new born,

When I am alone.

I cry my heart out,

laugh, sing and dance

shout, jump and unlock my

buried desires from the cocoon,

the crowd listens to my songs

of silence long suppressed

the new born reality grows green

on nature, carrying him in me

as the angel of my being,

when I am alone.

What’s life after all !

Not three royal meals,

going away on long drives,

to escape father’s pain, mother’s

tears and other symptoms of being

alive? No it’s a journey inside

to discover the soul's worldly self

to enter life’s mysteries:

This is best done

When I am alone.


Sabita Sahu

Parenting

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Gone are the days when children were considered the gifts of God. In India a one (or two) norm is followed by most educated couples suo motto. The poor and the people, who think more is merrier, go in for four or more. India is gradually becoming an affluent and workaholic society and people pursue their careers with keen concentration: producing children is no more a passionate pastime. But the problem which has now grown into nightmarish proportions is rearing the children, their upbringing, schooling and releasing them into the larger world to flap their own wings to seek their own goals.

The spouses work in their respective fields and each one lives in a different competitive world. They hardly find time to give quality time to the child(ren). The rich employ aayas and caretakers to look after the children. The children listen to strange hired voices between the good morning good night of the parents. In most cases a combative antipathy grows in the children who are lovelorn. The middle class children too are often deprived of parental love as both parents work. They do not grow under the loving care of their parents. As they go to school they see boys and girls alighting from expensive chauffeur driven cars with rich food in tiffin boxes, expensive mobile phones, pens and wads of pocket money. The boys and girls within the uniforms are temperamentally of a stubborn bohemianism. In certain cities they smoke marijuana or take drugs from the peddlers who sell addiction with impunity under protection of cynical bribable police. The Indian middle class is growing in size and the income packets too are growing phenomenally. To give all the luxuries available in today’s gadget crazy world the parents never hesitate. Those who cannot afford readily, often compelled by their stubborn lone child’s zealous craving take bank loans which are readily available to boost business in a consumer society. Rich parents give overfond gifts like BMWs or Mercedes in overbearing parties in seven star hotels. The eleven /twelve year old boys drive such cars in overcrowded cities at top speed under the influence of alcohol. The parents spend millions to save their errant kids from prison bars on high priced lawyers and move heaven and earth in political circles to protect their own overpowering love for their kids. If you ask them why did you allow your boys to go to clubs and bars till late night? They will keep mum with their head downcast: For they have no answer. These people have no time to wait for their children at home after the school hours. They themselves return home, if at all, inebriated in the wee hours of the morning spending time in the arms of social climbers or in the company of foreign business guests entertaining them for their own business interests. Their wives all dolled up visit their friends or spend a kitty night pegged up and pampered. They too never have time for their children. These people think parenting means giving all the luxuries to their lone kids and sending them to reputed schools in India or abroad. These people escape responsibility in spoiling their children. This is not necessarily an expression of love. This is a social cover up for their overindulgent ways of life.

The boys and girls often feel a sort of loneliness which later in their lives makes them aggressive in whatever they do. But the problem is not simple and the solution is not easy. The ordinary middle class parents especially the first or second generation professionals do come up in life the hard way. They know how difficult it is to enter the rat race and the competition. They pay special attention to their children. Make them work hard and teach them how to use the available and affordable comforts diligently. Even with parental care at times the children demand things which the parents cannot afford under demonstration effect. This can be avoided by parental advice backed up by their own demeanors .

The home- work place management is not an insurmountable problem. Working parents can manage both home and workplace by adhering to principles acceptable both at home and society. In an aspirational society like ours children are ambitious and that should be admired and encouraged. Lavishing tokens of love is welcome but parents must choose between ostentation and austerity. Moreover strict discipline and moral preaching must be avoided. Let the children grow with freedom under the benign care of loving parents. The parents must live a life which the children will emulate without pressure. Parents must be admired by the children: This the parents alone can ensure by living such lives.

Signature Of My Heart

 

It won't be wrong to say that you
are the answer to my querries,

the blessings for all my prayers,

the sustaining energy of my ventures,

the bewitching smile on my face,

the strength of my confidence and

the cause for all my celebrations.

You are the deity of my festivals

be it Dussehera or Diwali, I move

along the social stream all the time

thinking of you and you alone, for

you love like the sun guides me

to light, love, truth and god.

You are the treasure I deserve,

our roads are different, journeys

have different axis, may be galaxy

apart, yet the souls move in unison

and stay on course held by love

sharing the bond that binds without knots.

This is the signature of my heart,

destinys’ fingers have already moved

guiding me like you, where to perhaps

you know or the maker will write

someday in penitent ecstacy.

Sabita Sahu

Doctor : The second God

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty


Man primarily is a being, a mind- body complex. If the inner accord with the mutable reality is imbalanced an unease disturbs his composure. He goes to a doctor for restoration of his body and mind. The serious the ailment the agonising his appeal to the doctor: Can’t you wipe off the written troubles of my mind; pluck out the rooted sorrow... He prays the second god who with tablets and syrupy medicines cures him. Sets his ruined body in an accident to order with scalpel and knife. All men who suffer go with hope only to one person- a doctor. The witch doctor, the village vaidya, hakim or the modern sophisticated trained doctor or surgeon is the last hope for a suffering man,The doctor in the modern world, as always, is the most respected person as he saves life, restores confidence to live his allotted span of life. The medical profession is considered to be the most honourable and sacred. Greed, avarice and exploitation of a helpless man are not the weaknesses in a doctor which make him different from others. Names like Dr Schwitzer and Mother Teresa for their sacrifice and service to man are always remembered with a bowed head.

But what do we see today! The doctor is a money making professional who uses his expertise and efficiency to extract his pound of flesh from people who have no bargaining power when they lie inert in a hospital bed. His life saving powers are sold to the highest bidder. He plays with life, often blackmails and cheats, even loots. It will however, be a travesty of truth to generalise. Even today there are doctors who serve men and women with the best traits in their training and character. But when he becomes a corporate or is hired by a corporation mammon worship replaces his selfless divine services.

In India as in other countries, all governments prioritize health services. It is now the bounden duty of elected governments to pay attention to healthcare of the people. India being an over populated country of 1.3 billion it is not possible on the part of government-both centre and states – to provide super specialized medical service to all. More than half of the population is poor. The government hospitals, particularly in the rural and semi urban areas are poorly equipped. Doctors play truant ,mint money by providing private service. The corporate hospitals by nature and motive are profit making units established by rich investors. These provide service but at a prohibitive cost. In 2017 reports came from Max, Fortis and other such corporate hospitals how they over charge and loot. A kid suffering from Dengue was treated for two weeks but could not be saved. The parents were given a bill for fifteen lakhs to pay for the release of the body. An alive babe was given to the parents closed in a plastic bag ...

Let me not elaborate and list out such atrocities. In the government hospitals even a bed and a clean bed sheet are a blessed luxury, let us not ask about the sophisticated machines. But what pains us is the apathy and indifference of these aproned men who sell their souls for a few banknotes. The babies who died in the Gorakhpur Government Hospital owing to lack of oxygen were literally killed by the doctors by their chalta hai attitude. Private hospitals in the name of professionalism squeeze the patients. Tests which are irrelevant are conducted only to swell the bill... Let me not give a negative narrative of the hypocrisy and Shylock approach to patients who treat the doctors as angels of mercy. The medical practice is not a profession but a service. We do not grudge their income which is legitimate. But when a dead patient is kept on the ventilator for weeks only to extract money naturally your moral sense revolts. A patient’s gratitude is the highest reward for a doctor. When a doctor sees the grateful smiles on the face of a patient he should feel fulfilled. If you want money, well, throw away your stetho and degree and enter other sectors of lie and deceit. If not play the second god and earn respect, blessings and love which any day are more valuable than all the treasures of Kuber.

Religion Of Love

Why roam in deserts of hate,

climb mountains of showy valour

waste life in the sham of living,

come for the pilgrimage of love

it’s a journey that knows not the end.

Yes, the road is hard, path devious

So what! March forward and clear

a path leaving your footprints of love

for lovers to follow paving their own,

revelling on the new discoveries

of love's unrevealed dreams.

A year has passed one more rotation

of the planets, the sun chases a new dawn

opening up new destinations defeating

all odds, customs and worldly affairs:

count not your wounds, whimper not

for your pain and million sorrows,

worship the moments of bliss you had

in the shapely arms of your love

double it by reliving  them, be yourself

celebrate life with the religion of love.

Walk on life’s lovepath, celebrate

your love life with kisses all the way

life is a lover’s kiss,if love is

your only faith: live it with love

enjoy the raw pain of the world

vowing not to deviate half way.

Sabita Sahu

Celebrations !

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

When clouds appear in the sky bringing the prospect of rain we celebrate in anticipation of a good harvest. When a babe is born we celebrate welcoming the new entrant to our world. When a girl attains puberty we celebrate with fertility rituals. Marriages do call for celebration of a new beginning in life. When death occurs drawing curtains on a life we also celebrate with different rituals in slow languid rhythms bidding farewell to a person who after life’s fitful fever sleeps well! The harvesting season brings hope for another year and naturally we celebrate with fanfare. Celebration naturally comes to man as life, whatever be its form and reality, is full of tension and natural and unnatural pain. Celebration is the compensation for the intricate web of pain which like the spider’s web enchains in soft threads unseen and unknown.

Celebration on one side is the joyous expression of gratitude to gods for their bounty, on another it is a propitiatory ritual to gods to grant wishes legitimate or illegitimate. It is also a snobbish showing off of wealth, scope and large hearted bohemian temper. There are yet others who lavish all they imagine on an occasion as if there is no tomorrow. As civilization advances, new gadgets flood the market and avenues of new opportunities to swell the purse and  bank accounts open up. The tone and temper of celebrations change from the alap to the jhala. Religious celebrations have undergone a sea change. The oil wick lamps have now been replaced by LED and psychedelic lighting supervised by qualified engineers. An earthen lamp, however, is kept in one corner as a symbolic relic of those dark centuries. The offering plates have grown in size, shape and material-brass to gold-,the images too have grown in size.  An austere Durga or a blissful Saraswati is now a supermodel of a multinational jeweller. The loud speakers blare through the night to far off miles.

The social occasions of revelry have gone up a few decibels. A birthday is celebrated with royal glamour as though after a long wait the Prince of Light is born to dispel all darkness from earth. The starters, the prandial spread will put to shame the grandeur of all descriptions in our epics. The classical sense of a banquet will appear ridiculous before the affluent imagination of an event manager. Marriages are so grand and ostentatious that a wise man is compelled to vow bachelorhood or just elopement with the loved one to a desert tent.

Political celebrations too are now loud and pompous. A victory in the Panchayat Elections or Parliament; the celebration of a political party attaining majority are now riotous with band, flags and festoons causing traffic jam and road blocks. Even a clean chit in a murder case is now an occasion for celebratory display of money and power. A football team emerging as champion in the English Premier League celebrates victory like a coronation.

No no , don’t take me wrong . I am not opposed to celebrations, for celebrations keep our zest of life alive. Human energy at its highest tension must be maintained to meet the challenges of nature and civilization; hence any victory or survival from the jaws of death must be celebrated with aplomb. But when a third of the world’s population is denied a few survival morsels why should the rich and powerful make a vulgar display of their joy? Moreover, so much food and goodies are wasted and thrown that heavens wonder at our stultifying luxury of self indulgence.

The world calls for celebrations. The early dew on the lotus petals, the crimson sun giving the wake up call to the late risers, the birds in clusters moving to search for food are all sights and events to celebrate in creation. Celebrate man‘s love for man, celebrate human dignity. Make mankind move together in a celebratory stance thanking the giver of life in his most beautiful creation. Celebrate the end of poverty, sickness and war. Make your every moment a celebration of being alive. The snobbish party and wasteful fanfare and drummery over small and natural joys of life are not needed; for they are celebrations in themselves. Celebrate the art and  creativity of man in creative ways. Celebrate humanism and man’s victory over the agents of death. Celebrate the elimination of crime and separation.

But man will celebrate his pride of being a father or his arrogance of being a hero in the tinsel world. These poor chaps should be pardoned. But when a celebration wastes what others’ need fervently there is no pardon. Celebrations should be judicious and humble, for, man is the noblest of creation and nobility ought to make us humble.