What to blog about today?

Somebody once said ( and the rest of the world's been quoting it ad nauseam ever since!) that one picture's worth a thousand words. Here's one I came across on the BLaugh site that takes loquacity to an altogether new level. It certainly made me cringe a bit and I don't even blog every day.

Art Buchwald - R.I.P.

Art Buchwald, arguably America's greatest humorist since Mark Twain, passed away on Wednesday, the 17th of January 2007, aged 81. I've never been very good at writing obituaries. All I can say is 'Thanks, Mr.Buchwald, for many decades of laughter. Your writings enlivened our lives. Your political satires showed up many a windbag for for being exactly that - a bagful of hot air. To a non-American like me, you were my first introduction to Watergate, before I'd ever heard of Woodward and Bernstein.

Rest in peace.

A short on-line biography of Art Buchwald can be read here on Wikipedia.

The pen goes dry

I long for your cooling embrace
After the relentless flames of the world
Give me repose, Mother Ganga, for I come to your arms as ashes
Increasingly irksome was the mortal garb
And the silken ties too tight


The skein has unravelled
And I am one with the sky and the stars
Those symbols of eternity;
Have left behind mortal playmates, fickle emotions...

My pen sobs
And I lack the courage to speak the truth
To let it know
That it has finally run dry, and I, empty
Words fail me, like the 'Brahmastra', at vital moments
Perhaps I, too, carry the curse
Of some Bhargava ?

A free verse translation of my Marathi ghazal.

Manhood

Every morning the headlines flaunt
The rising graph of our hallowed, ancient culture
And provide statistical confirmation
Of the collective manhood
Of a bogey full of passengers;
Of the protectors' unshakeable indolence
Of unabashed justifications, of corrupted lives


Soon, far too soon
The dust settles
The reporters move on
Then is declared the official price
Of outraged modesty
Then stands tall and proud the maze
Of hospitals, police stations,
Blind, deaf, impotent courts
In which are condemned wounds
Never to heal
And the wounded
To endure the curse of life

I click my tongue in empathy
Sipping my steaming cup of tea
Then, turning the page, focus on
The alluring barely-clads of Page Three...


A free translation of my Marathi poem 'Purushaarth'.