I Won't Let You Go

Whenever I find myself in a new city, there are three things I cannot resist doing:

1. Strolling around the streets randomly and aimlessly.
2. Popping into every bookstore I spot.
3. Acquiring at least one book with a local connection.

Thus, having arrived in Kolkata just this morning on a 20-hour-delayed train (but that's another story), I duly proceeded to complete all three tasks, in sequence, within the space of 12 hours. Having decided to bunk the tutorial I was supposed to be attending, I was walking down the CIT Road, ducking and weaving my way through the heaving masses of evening shoppers and pavement vendors, when what should I spy but a Crossword bookstore? So in I promptly went, and in due course out I came, clutching a collection of Tagore's poems in English translation. And the very first one I tried struck home deeply and movingly. Tagore's use of lush imagery, in the sensuous Bengali style, is legendary, and whilst I can only wish I could read the originals, occasionally a translation too seems to convey a very powerful sense of it. Here's an excerpt:

In what a profound sadness are sky and earth
immersed! The further I go,
the more I hear the same piteous note:
'I won't let you go!' From the earth's edge
to the outermost limits of the blue heavens rings
this perennial cry, without beginning, without end:
'I won't let you go! I won't let you go!' That's what
they all say — 'I won't let you go!' Mother Earth,
holding the littlest grass-stalk to her breast,
says with all her power: 'I won't let you go!'
And in a lamp about to go out, someone seems
to pull the dying flame from darkness' grasp,
saying a hundred times, 'Ah, I won't let you go!'
From heaven to earth in this infinite universe
this is the oldest statement, the deepest cry —
'I won't let you go!' And yet, alas,
we have to let go of everything, and they go.
Thus it has been since time without beginning.
In creation's torrent, carrier of deluging seas,
they all rush past with fierce velocity,
eyes burning, eager arms outstretched,
moaning, calling — 'Won't, won't let you go!' —
filling the shores of the cosmos with their clamour.
'Won't, won't let you go,' declares the rear wave
to the front wave, but none listens
or responds.

— Rabindranath Tagore (translated by Ketaki Kushari Dyson)

No Power on Earth Can Stop an Idea Whose Time Has Come

I do not minimise the difficulties that lie ahead on the long and arduous journey on which we have embarked. But as Victor Hugo once said, "no power on earth can stop an idea whose time has come". I suggest to this august House that the emergence of India as a major economic power in the world happens to be one such idea. Let the whole world hear it loud and clear. India is now wide awake. We shall prevail. We shall overcome.

— Manmohan Singh, Budget Speech 1991

It seems to me that perhaps there is another idea whose time has finally come for our society: genuine respect for the autonomy of women. If only our Prime Minister were still capable of seizing the moment in the fashion he did all those years ago...

The Audacity of Hope

Yesterday India and Pakistan finally signed the much-awaited liberalised visa regime, which could set the stage for people from both sides to be able to meet and visit each other without being made to feel like suspected terrorists. True, the tortuous history of Indo-Pak relations is littered with false starts and shattered dreams; but hope springs eternal in the human breast...

When one experiences a rare moment of hopefulness, or optimism, or joy, one naturally wishes to try and somehow capture that ephemeral feeling, to hold on to it, to pin it down before its inevitable and all-too-swift departure. One wishes for something like Dumbledore's pensieve, to be able to bottle up and preserve forever cherished memories and experiences, to be able to relive them again and again. This world of ours may not have pensieves (yet); but it has its own forms of magic, one of which is poetry. Poetry, too, is a means of attempting to encapsulate for posterity those fleeting thoughts and emotions which make us human. Thus the laboured justification for my desire to recall a little item of Urdu verse I jotted down at the time this visa regime was first proposed. Not that my crude lines can be claimed to possess any magical qualities; but here goes anyway (including Devanagari transliteration and a rough English gloss):

سرحد کے اس پار سے کچھ پکار آئ ہے
لمبی شبِ یاس کے بعد شاید سحر آئ ہے

پنجاب و سندھ و خیبر و گلگت میں آ رہا ہوں
بڑی جستجو کے بعد منزل شاید پاس آئ ہے

सरहद के उस पार से, कुछ पुकार आई है
लम्बी शब-ए-यास के बाद, शायद सहर आई है

पंजाब-ओ-सिंध-ओ-ख़ैबर-ओ-गिलगित, मैं आ रहा हूँ
बड़ी जुस्तजू के बाद, मंज़िल शायद पास आई है

From beyond yonder border, some voice calls out to me;
After the long despairing night, maybe the day has dawned

Punjab and Sindh and Khyber and Gilgit, I'm on my way;
After the long hard quest, maybe the destination approaches

False Hopes

Why did the green bubble flicker, only to go grey again?
One moment you were Available, the next, Offline...
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, wondering what to say;
I never had a chance: have I hands of clay?

Why throw me crumbs of hope, only to blow them away?
'TTYL!', you said last time, and so I've been waiting...
Counting every passing day, updating my running sum;
No one ever told me Later would never come!

Why must you encourage me, only to break my heart?
All those :)s and :Ds and :Ps, I thought you liked me...
But then you left, cut me off, I could barely type Good Night;
Now I just sit and stare, awaiting the next green light.