I am...

a dreamer caught in reality

eternity caught in time

a desert caught in an oasis

a poem caught in a rhyme

I am that which cannot be

What I am cannot be told

I am that and this is me

This was I but that is old

A Wooden House

In speaking of those days I do not wish to say that they were unhappy. They weren’t. But they weren’t happy either. In fact those were our dog-days. Days that we have barked ourselves by.

On a Winter's Night

Prologue and first act of a love drama in verse (sort of): On a Winter's Night.

Prologue

Two strangers in overcoats and hats on a foggy night. It is hard to tell who the man is and who the woman until they speak. They are standing still, not quite face to face, but looking past each other, into the distance.

In Hot Water

This is Act 1 of a radio play I wrote in April 2007 for the BBC International Radio Playwriting Competition.


List of Characters:

Mr Chatterjee, a Bengali Indian, recently husband

Mrs Chatterjee, another Bengali Indian, recently wife

Yves, a French tourist, interested in the mysteries of Tantric sex

Maya, a young American seeker, with the stars of enlightenment in her eyes

Tenzin Norbu-la, an elderly Buddhist monk

Swami Drown-ananda, a venerable Indian yogi in the nude

Scene: The action is set high in the Himalayas, on the last piece of land left before water from the melting poles has swallowed up the whole of the earth.
 

Death

I want to reach simplicity as an arrow reaches its mark

Shot straight for it, wavering neither here nor there

Exploding in its end like

The fire that killed the spark

It will sweep through me like rain across the land

Water on my body, flood in my mind

A drowning that will be as difficult

As it is kind

It will come very quietly like my ancient lover at night

And hide from me awhile lest I die from the sight

But death will be simple like a child flying her kite.

The Nature of the Self

The self is riddled with desire. The nature of the self is to give in to this desire. This leads to suffering, teaching us nothing.

I first began my steep ascent the day I lost control of my senses. My eyes would not be still, they jumped from object to object. My ears strained at the leash to hear all kinds of sounds which had no meaning. My tongue swallowed everything but forgot to taste it on its way in. My nose was not blocked for the first time in ages, yet I smelt nothing, or everything, which made no sense. Soft touch was upon me all over my body, yet--

A Simple Love Story

An excerpt from the first chapter of the novella, A Simple Love Story.
You can browse through or buy the book here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00H25NZ62

Boy Meets Girl

Speaking of words and roads…

            We were on our way back from a temple city that we’d gone visiting in a group. At that time anything that we could do was in a group. Like a protective umbrella around us. So afraid to reveal ourselves and our desires. Even to simply say that we wanted simply to be with each other was like running naked at that time. So we sought the protection of a group. When it came to love, we were heartbreakingly innocent.

           

House out of Time

This extract is from a novel called House out of Time. This is part of Chapter 6.

6.     The Pigeon among the Cats

When Mr Shah came to, he perceived a few people gathered around him, while most others carried on with their hurried movement hither and fro. His office bag with the tiffin case containing his lunch was beside him on the floor. It took him a couple of minutes to figure out where he was. He was on the floor of a Metro platform. He was on his back because…

Ah, yes. He must have fainted. That’s why all these people are here, looking concerned and asking questions.

Yes, I’m fine, thank you. I’m getting late for office.

Nothing happened. The blood just rushed to my head. It’s just that I’m epileptic. In fact, my fits are quite regular, often turning very violent. As a matter of fact, I’m mad. I’ve received electric shocks in insane asylums and that’s why I faint from time to time on the Metro platforms. Can I go now, having given you all my psycho-medical history?

So cursing all solicitous enquiries along such ungrateful, sarcastic lines, but maintaining a perfectly polite and courteous exterior, Mr Shah pushed along on his way to office.

The Last Day of the Last Year

31 December 2006

On the last day of the last year, something significant happened to me, which I thought I’d share. It was a kind of rebirth.

I had always thought of myself as having had a “difficult” childhood. The details do not matter. The practical impact was a sense of lack of love and the resulting sense of pain that seemed to accompany me since then, whether loudly, or subtly, as a background noise.

I had been gradually and consciously letting go of it for a long time now. I had been growing up. The last day of the last year is I think when it finally substantially happened. This is what took place.

The Monk in His Madness

This is a film script I wrote some while ago, called The Monk in His Madness. Here are the first few scenes.

INT. MONASTERY, A MONK’S CELL – NIGHT

In a dark cell in a monastery there is much commotion. Initially a confused impression of intense activity: hands and legs moving at rapid speed across the screen, but no sense to what is happening.

Gradually we make out that SEVERAL MONKS are in the process of trying to restrain A YOUNG MONK (TASHI) who seems to be in the middle of having AN EPILEPTIC FIT. His body is convulsing in a tremendous way and the monks around him are having a hard time trying to keep him in control. They try to stuff his mouth, which is by now foaming at the sides, with cloth so that he doesn’t swallow his own tongue, but without success. Some of them are trying to shove a big iron key into his hand and make him grasp it, but that endeavour is not succeeding either. Some are trying to rub his feet with their hands but he is convulsing too much for them to really do anything. The young monk’s eyeballs are rolling and he almost looks like he will die.