To The High Priest Of Literature...

Dear Nagesh Sir,

You are a legend who taught me to fight to bring honor to our family even by rejecting man's law like Antigone, who taught me that like Lysistrata, the very effort of women can put an end to great wars, to face the existential crisis with Berenger, to forsee how I will be remembered after my death through Elegy, to visit the Renaissance Italy with Andrea del sarto and Fra Lippo Lippi, to be in gay and keep moving on with Gunn's motorcyclists and to ride the waves with the surfers. Sir, you are the one who took me to the very beginning of the evolution of the language of cinema with Bazin ,who helped me to know the third cinema , to experience a chill down my spine with Marion Crane, to go in search of the stolen bicycle with Antonio Ricci and Bruno to prevent poverty in the family. The Sage who taught us to look into the thoughts of others with Saleem Sinai, to be compassionate to the 'other' with Gustad, to break the silence with Marikatani's mother, to be that innocent girl of Okita who doesn't know the impending horror, to see and know the Invisible people around me with Ellison and to suffer with John.
I wish you could have taught us to lament over the modern world with Eliot, to go into the darkness of the heart with Conrad, to know the metaphysical poets, to learn Irony and Archetypes of Literature, to understand the impacts of modern horrors with Auden and Lowell and to be in conflict with nature and civilization with Morrison's creations.
But time changes, season changes and you can't be always the same you. As Mehmet Murat ildan rightly said, "When you are leaving someone, leave like the sun leaves the earth with a magnificent elegance!" and I believe this is how you leave Devagiri.
Love you Sir and will definitely miss you.I wish you a happy and healthy retirement life.

With lots of love , prayers and reverence,
A Student who was wonderstruck by your classes.

Comments

Shuli’s Love

Shuli washed her hair twice that day. One for her love to cleanse all impurities of reality and one for herself. She took a nap twice that day. One for love that took her melatonin, And another to forget. Shuli laughed twice that day. One on behalf of her tainted Love, And another on her botched brain cells. She cried a quarter that day. Half a quarter filled with anger, and the other half with shame. She danced twice that day, One for lost time on love, And another for her love for dance. Shuli wrote twice that day, One for her heart and Other for her brain. She gave two hugs that day, One for her wet pillow And another for herself. Shuli played hostess twice that day, One for her pain and the last for her sanity.

Little Poem

My procrastination ends here, While the urge to write chokes my throat, My hands get paralysed as in a trance, I find excuses to write a little poem, I make up a lonely man, a distressed woman, a lovers’ quarrel, an unrequited love, But they are reluctant to play the part, Maybe i should give them a raise, Or throw a party at midnight, Maybe a few drinks might work, Only if they don’t puke. I can expect a little vandalism, Some damage to the property and a mini scandal, Possibly out of rage. But at the end when I bring my weapons, Sometimes they get scared and back off, Some may never come back, Others find it funny and mock at me, And opportunists, seeing my desperation, Attacks me with manipulation. And all these while, my three panic attacks talk to me in a different language, I try to write a little poem With a racing heart and flowing eyes, I write my little poem, tortured and broken, I end my little poem, Like a mighty warrior, Who had a pyrrhic victory.

Madeline’s Mirror

Madeline’s mirror told her she’s fat, It appalled at her shapeless dress, Covering a chunk of flesh. She looked at her broad shoulders And big breasts, which reminded her of a pile of clothes that no longer fits her. But Madeline smiled and applied her eyeliner effortlessly. Her mirror sneered at her chafing thighs kissing each other when she moves. Madeline’s mirror found her plush lips contradicting the pair of flesh on either side of it. It spotted the two chins fighting for space like contestants in the combat zone. Madeline admired her freckleless skin, and applied her favourite lipstick. The mirror reflected her flabby arms complementing her saggy belly. Madeline moved closer to her mirror, which still in oblivion, started to produce sympathetic smiles at her legs. It mirrored how her legs carry all the weight, hiding under her flowy dress. Appreciating her silky hair and perfectly manicured...

THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

Search This Blog