Every wall and corner here has rounded edges. The garden has a temple, and the home is one too. Three hours north of the big city bustle, and a stone’s throw from the west wall of the Puttaparthi ashram, John and I made this our home a few years ago. We slow down when we get here. I wake up vibrant. Sleep bright.
***
When I was a school-kid in the early 70’s, in Kalpakkam, my parents would give me Rs. 25 a month to buy books. With that, I would easily buy five books on our monthly trip to Madras (now Chennai). Mostly they were Enid Blyton books (I thought the author’s name was Gnid Blyton). No, I no longer have those. Over the years, I collected books – and gave away books – but they still fill walls and spill over into trunks and balconies. This snapshot is from Bengaluru.
***
Remember the first clunky computers? The picture was clicked in 1995 in Waiheke, New Zealand.
***
My work desk in Lamma, Hongkong, 2006. Illustration by Gérard Henry.
***
Same work desk, Lamma. That’s me sitting outside in the garden-porch, chatting with a visiting friend.
***
OF THE MONKEYS OF VRINDAVAN
By Mani Rao
If you wear glasses, beware the monkeys of Vrindavan.
Quick on the take these three-foot sprinters confiscate complacency.
To whom will you plead your case, naked face, asks a gopi.
Don’t you know our crooked boyfriend’s really the Prince of Thieves?
Ask the dancing trees moist centuries’ evergreen memories.
Hurry down alleys blurry for darshan. Like a river you can only go to sea.
Still looking for your glasses without your glasses? A ragman taunts.
How will you identify him unless you become anonymity?
Ask the dancing trees moist centuries’ evergreen memories.
Skirts of gopis crest and swirl like oceans to flute-moon.
In through the gates of birth arrives dog unconditional love.
Deny the hug and one more chance awaits by the door of death.
You make it in time. Curtains open dazzling. Love’s blind,
And your heart’s stolen.
