Revisiting Hemingway…The Old Man and the Sea..

pain on glass by Michaela Muller

‘Fight  them , he said. I’ll fight them until  I  die.

But in the dark  now and no glow showing and no lights and only the wind and the steady pull of the sail  he felt that perhaps he was already dead. He put his two hands together and felt the  palms . They were not dead and he could bring the pain of  life  by simply opening and closing them. He leaned his back against the stern and knew he was not dead. His shoulders told him.

 I have all those prayers I promised if  I caught the fish, he thought . But I am too tired to say them now. I better get the sack and put it over my shoulders.

He lay in the stern and steered and watched for the glow to come in the sky. I have half of him, he thought. Maybe I’ll have the luck to bring the forward half in. I should have some luck. No, he said. You violated your luck when you  went too far outside. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said aloud. ‘keep awake and steer. You may have much luck yet.

‘I ‘d  like to buy some if there’s any place they sell it,’ he said. What could I buy it with? he asked himself. Could I buy it with a lost harpoon and a broken knife and two bad hands ? ‘You might,’ he said. ‘You tried eighty four  days at sea. They nearly sold it to you too.’

I must not think nonsense, he thought. Luck is a thing that comes in many forms and who can recognize her ? I would  take  some though in any form and pay what they asked. I wish  I could see the glow from the lights, he thought. I wish too many things. But that is the thing I wish for now. He tried to settle more comfortably to steer and from his pain he knew  he was not dead………

………Now it is over, he thought. They will probably hit me again. But what can a man do against them in the dark without a weapon? ……………………..I hope I do not have to fight again, he thought. I hope so much I do not have to fight again. But by midnight he fought and this time he knew the fight was useless………………

……………That  was the last shark of  the pack that came.  There was nothing more for them to eat.

The old man could hardly breathe now and he felt a strange taste in his mouth. It was coppery and sweet and he was afraid of it for a moment. But there was not much of it.

He spat into the ocean and said, ‘Eat that, galanos.  And make a dream you’ve killed a man.’


An African Elegy : Ben Okri

We are the miracles that God made.
To taste the bitter fruit of Time

We are precious.

And one day our suffering
Will turn into the wonders of the earth.

There are things that burn me now
Which turn golden when I am happy

Do you see the mystery of our pain ?

That we bear poverty
And are able to sing and dream sweet things
And that we never curse the air when it is warm
Or the fruit when it tastes so good
Or the lights that bounce gently on the waters?

We bless things even in our pain
We bless them in silence.
That is why our music is so sweet.
It makes the air remember
There are secret miracles at work
That only Time will bring forth

I too have heard the dead singing
And they tell me that
This life is good
They tell me to live it gently
With fire and always with hope

There is wonder here
And there is surprise
In everything the unseen moves
The ocean is full of songs.
The sky is not an enemy.
Destiny is our friend.

મોગરાનાં ફૂલ ….

wpid-wp-1431758486629.jpeg*ગોરંભાયેલું ગગન અને ઉથલ પાથલ મનનો ક્યારો ..
લાવ વાવી દઉં થોડાં સપના ,થોડી આશા. પછી છોને વરસતો મેઘ અનરાધાર .

*તારી આંગળીઓ નો સ્પર્શ લખે
એક એક હાઇકુ મારી આંગળીઓ પર .

*મને એક લાલચટ્ટક સૂરજ આપો
એક પારદર્શક ભૂરી નદી આપો
બાકી બધું હું સર્જી લઈશ .

* સપનાની ચકલીઓ નિદ્રા ચણી ગઈ
હવે બળબળતું કોરું આંખોનું આંગણું .

મારી મન :સ્થિતિ … એક શબ્દ ચિત્ર .

મારી મન:સ્થિતિ

હું  અત્યારે  અજાણ્યા  ઘરમાં વસવાટ કરતા મુસાફર જેવું મારા શરીરમાં રહું  છું.

થોડા દિવસથી સહારાના  રણ ની  લૂ દઝાડતી ગરમીમાં  શેકાયેલુઁ   મન  થઇ  ગયું  હતું . એક બેચેન  કરતી ,દઝાડતી , તાવની  ગરમીમાં  શેકાતા  શરીર  જેવું મન .  વિચારોની  છૂટી છવાઈ વાદળી  દેખાય  એટલું  જ . કોઈ  વિચારને  પકડી  ન શકે ,  ન ક્યાંય  અટકી  શકે …… વહેતા  વાયુ  જેવું મન. આ  વિચારે  છે તે હું  જ  કે ? ?  પવન માં  ચોતરફ  ઉડી  ગયેલા  કાગળો ને , વેરવિખેર  કાગળો ને  એક એક કરી  ઉઠાવીએ  અને પછી  એને સમજીને  ક્રમવાર ગોઠવવા પડે એવી મનની દશા છે .કોઈ ઘટનાની અસરો ,એની ઉત્પત્તિ અને એનાથી જન્મેલા વિચાર વમળો બધાં સેળ-ભેળ થઇ ને સંદર્ભ ગુમાવી બેઠા છે .કોઈ ચલચિત્ર જોતાં  જોતાઁ  જો વારેઘડીએ rewind forward કર્યા કરીએ તો અચાનક વર્તમાન પળ કઈ હતી તે ભુલાઈ જાય તેવી સ્થિતિ છે મારા મનની .

કોઈ અજાણ્યા દેશમાં  Train માં પ્રવાસ કરતી વખતે દરેક મુકામે એક જાતની મૂંઝવણ ,ઉત્કંઠા હોય કે  હવે પછી કયું ગામ કે શહેર છે ?? પણ જાણ્યા પછી ય એનો શો અર્થ !..અને જ્યાં પહોંચવાનું છે એની સાથે આ જાણકારી નો શો સંબંધ !? અથવા ક્યાં પહોંચવાનું છે એ જ ક્યાં ખબર છે ! અથવા ખરેખર કાંઈ પહોંચવા જેવું છે ખરું ?જીંદગી જાણે ઉભડક જીવે બેઠેલા મુસાફર જેવી છે જેને પોતાનું station જતું રહેશે એની ચિંતામાં પ્રવાસનો આનંદ નથી જાણતો પણ કયું station જતું રહેવાનું છે એની પણ જાણ નથી….છે માત્ર અજંપો

In a Swirl. ..

wpid-img_28129582425448.jpegTurning at every  corner
Avoiding all the  sharp  edges ;
My life is in a whirl
Sucking me deep down with it;

Now  I don’t know,

Is everything around  me moving
With me in a smooth, uniform  motion or

Is everything  standing still  !!?

A translation from urdu” Kaghazi Hai Pairahan” By Ismat Chughtai

“……I asked them why they didn’t dress themselves up.”never felt the need ! Why, do I look ugly?one of them [girls in Russia] threw back at me.  Not really,But you will look even more beautiful [if you wear make-up].”I would like to offer goods that are genuine.My own complexion,lips and femininity are good enough”, she replied with confidence……

….In my stories I have  written a great deal about women’s economic subjugation and helplessness. If a girl obeys the men in her family simply  because she is economically dependent on them,then it is not obedience but deception. If a wife stays with her husband  simply  because  he is her provider then she’s  as helpless as a prostitute. The children born of such a mother will only display helplessness and a slavish mentality. Such a people  would  always be dependent on the munificence  of developed nations.As long as the women of our country continue to suffer oppression without resistance we will be weighed down by a sense of inferiority  in political and economic  spheres too.

Translation by  M. Asaduddin

Ismat Chughtai     [1911-1991] She was most courageous  and controversial  writer of her time.She was distinguished  both by the themes  she dealt with and  the style  she developed to treat them.As the  subcontinent’s  foremost feminist writer she was instinctively aware of the gendered double standard in the largely feudal and patriarchal structure of the society she lived in and did everything to expose and subvert it………….From the book Ismat Chughtai  A Life in Words, memoirs  – M. Asaduddin

Supremely impressed and a big fan of her  cannot  resist to share her thoughts   as they  are  so relevant   even after so many years.    

Growing Time: A new poem





Hanging wind-chimes  of my,
leftover dreams;
half written  poems;
untold stories.
Decorating my windows of desires,
with their unfamiliar yet beautiful sounds.
Sometimes time grows into unheard melodies.

એક મુકામ ……

wpid-img_112842545702439.jpegકેમ છો ,

                         અત્યારે  જ  ગુજરાતીમાં લખતા શીખી .એના ઉત્સાહ માટે  કૈક  તમારા બધા સાથે  share  કરું  છું.

મરીજ નો શેર છે :

 હું  કોને  કોને મારી  કવિતા માં  દઉં  જગા  !
જેને  મળુઁ   છું   એની જુદી   દાસ્તાન  છે .

ગાલિબ  નો શેર છે :

બસ  કિ  હું   “ગાલિબ” અસીરીમેં   ભી  આતશ  જેરે-પા
મૂ-એ- આતશ-દીદ :   હૈ   હલ્કા  મેરી  જંજીર કા .

જેરે-પા = પગમાં  આતશ  , અસીરી=  કેદ   માં , મૂ-એ-આતશ-દીદ : = આગને  અડેલી વાળની  લટો , હલ્કા=કડીઓ

વાસંતી વાયરાની ખોજ……


જિંદગી ઠરી ગયેલું પાંદડું પાનખરનું

સમયના બરફ ની વચ્ચે.

પાંદડામાં ધબકે ધીમી ધીમી

વાસંતી વાયરાની ખોજ.


કાવ્ય જન્મ !

મ્ંઝારો, અજંપો,
મારી અંદર મને જ કોઈનું અથડાયા કરવું,
અણધાર્યા વિચારોના ઉબકા,
અને કાવ્યજન્મ.
છ્ટકારો ??
સર્જન ??