The Innocent Crime…(Choreography 2008)

prologue

"He rises, they arise with him,
The captains of his sight,
From amidst the stygian flames, the Dark,
As the lotus blooms, the White."

A child is born. A child that is like any other child that sees the light of day. And as with all other newborns, two semblances of his soul are born with him- the Good and the Dark, the White and the Black. As he toddles his way into the streets of society, Society Herself determines which shade of his soul prevails over the other ...

We talk of Western influences poisoning the minds of our youth, and sowing the seeds of violence in them. But are we, as representatives of our society, totally free from blame?

Today we intend to explore this harsh truth through the tale of a child, as he describes it himself ...

THE TALE

“I, too, was born an innocent child. Oblivious of the darker hues of life. With me were born the two faces of my conscience – in one half of my mind the Leader of the White Forces emerged from the lotus of Heaven, while in the other, the Leader of the Black Brigade rose from amidst the flames of Hell. The Dark Leader, at the onset, tried to poison my mind, but it seemed that doves from Heaven encircled me and denied him admission. Thus my pure spirit was protected.

From the Leader of the White, I learnt the bright virtues of life, as I danced and played with him. As I frolicked on the playground, my eyes fell on a bunch of kids playing the majestic game. Yes, cricket it was! Wonderstruck, I approached them to teach me the lovely game, but they sent me from one player to the other, and then, all of a sudden, one of them, his face still fresh in my mind, pushed me aside, and I fell ..

I felt the Black Brigade rising inside me, and a fierce duel between the White and the Dark ensued. As the feud waged on, the Dark Leader proceeded to verse me in the evil ways. I was petrified to see the Dark Leader ruthlessly slay some of the Whites.

I returned home from school one day to find a drunken father who, on being asked for some assistance, pushed me aside and, in a violent rage, kicked the table, and went inside. A moment later, I could hear the helpless screams of my mother as my father mercilessly tortured her. The White Leader tried to console me …

And then the Blacks rose again. Another bloody duel between the two forces waged on in my mind. The Whites fought bravely, but in the end, they lost their lives to the Black Brigade, who piled up their carcasses for show…

And then, one day, in the classroom, the teacher cursed me about my homework, and the students mocked and laughed at me. One of them kicked me. It was the boy from the playground …

I envisaged the Dark Leader sitting on the throne of Hell, as the White Leader emerged to avenge the death of his fellowmen. Alas! He was brutally tortured by the Blacks, and tried in vain to wage a grueling battle against the Dark Chariot. As he fell down unconscious, I saw the Black Brigade taking the shape of a mighty scorpion.

The poison had been injected. I felt my limbs go numb and, like a puppet, sway to the orders of the Dark Lord. He taught me the art of murder, and as the Blacks proceeded to assassinate the White angel, I saw the boy from the playground in front of me. I felt a maddening rage creep up my spine, and in my hand, I felt the coldness of a steel dagger. Amidst his shrieks, I felt the blood spurt out from his body as I stabbed him to death …

I woke up to find myself in a prison cell, bound and helpless. No matter how hard I tried, I could not break free of the bars. I felt dizzy, and my spirit bled to its death, slowly but surely …”

Epilogue

(Man on radio: BREAKING NEWS! BREAKING NEWS! Yet another student kills his peer and ends up in juvenile custody…)

Child: “You look at me. You all do. With dismay. With contempt. "Western influence, you know!" "Why, all the garbage in their minds comes from there!" “The Hollywood thrillers, the computer games, the American criminal fiction!” "Violence! That's all they teach!"

As if I, a beast of your society, am not your creation. As if I had nothing to learn out of my encounters on the playground and in the classroom. As if I had no lesson in violence from the fires of domestic abuse that burn in every household around me. As if .. As if ..”

Tug-Of-War

Flummoxed ...

The ring of the telephone heralds the news.
News of your fame
And my ..... oblivion.

My mind wanders. It's been a year
Since Estrangement achieved Her pinnacle
And I was relieved from the traffic
Of one-way lanes of emotions.
Ever since have I felt free ...

Y-e-s, I a-m free

I feel F-R-E-E ...


But ...




It's dark.
I feel the twiners creeping up my legs again.
I feel the old shackles renewing their grip on me.
And I feel the rusted bolt tightening somewhere in my mind,
Slowly but s-u-r-e-l-y ...

Such is the power of feelings,
That they can never be erased and eradicated?

Or ..

Is it the prowess of Fame?

Aboard the Kolkata Express.....

I am no Communist. Right wing, neither. You may berate me by calling me anti-political.. I don't mind. All I want is progress of my motherland. And I hate it when you take it up as a political issue, to please your 'anima' as well as feed your baying hounds from time to time..

Written in the context of the effect of the Singur political duel as observed in the City of Joy, the poem seeks to explore the feelings of a city strangulated by demonstrations, strikes, and counter-demonstrations.....

The world speeds by on either side
As motionless I lie,
On a berth with half the woodwork gone,
Lights defunct as I.

Darkness's been my 'better half'
For sixty long years now
Stable as I try to remain,
Clinging on and how.

The sparks of light I seldom see
Are but Western pomp and show-
Tunnels that lead to "DEAD END" signs;
The din succeeds the glow.

The family split in opinion last night
And nearly wrote my death:
They blocked my veins and slashed my wrist
- Caused significant unrest.

The train was nearing a station t last,
When the sister raised alarm
That the elders had conspired so
Had steered to a haunted farm.

The train proceeded to move adrift
As the quarrel continued
Sandwiched in between I lay,
Tormented in the feud.

Oh! How long will stations still fly past?
This turbulent status quo?
All take care of self-prestige;
My family turns my foe.

How I wish to hit the road
Far from the metal tracks,
Miles from the dark and stagnant air
In the advancing breeze relax.

But will my very own kith and kin
Ever realize my dream?
Inaction never pays on track
Tho' "kickass" it may seem.

Baseless strikes and whimsical fasts
I've faced enough of them;
It's time to drill into your brains
The good rules of the game.

Arguing for lack of point
In the end will never pay;
Never neglect the family cause
Merely to have your say.....


© 2007 Someshwar Roy

Aboard the Kolkata Express.....

The world speeds by on either side
As motionless I lie,
On a berth with half the woodwork gone,
Lights defunct as I.

Darkness's been my 'better half'
For sixty long years now
Stable as I try to remain,
Clinging on and how.

The sparks of light I seldom see
Are but Western pomp and show-
Tunnels that lead to "DEAD END" signs;
The din succeeds the glow.

The family split in opinion last night
And nearly wrote my death:
They blocked my veins and slashed my wrist
- Caused significant unrest.

The train was nearing a station t last,
When the sister raised alarm
That the elders had conspired so
Had steered to a haunted farm.

The train proceeded to move adrift
As the quarrel continued
Sandwiched in between I lay,
Tormented in the feud.

Oh! How long will stations still fly past?
This turbulent status quo?
All take care of self-prestige;
My family turns my foe.

How I wish to hit the road
Far from the metal tracks,
Miles from the dark and stagnant air
In the advancing breeze relax.

But will my very own kith and kin
Ever realize my dream?
Inaction never pays on track
Tho' "kickass" it may seem.

Baseless strikes and whimsical fasts
I've faced enough of them;
It's time to drill into your brains
The good rules of the game.

Arguing for lack of point
In the end will never pay;
Never neglect the family cause
Merely to have your say.....


© 2007 Someshwar Roy

la Paralysie....

Well.. better believe it!!

Even laymen like me suffer from writers' block. And I have been through this for quite some time now. Having realized the fact that giving matters a rest won't necessarily make me recuperate, I have finally taken to the task of diligently filling up paper (erm.... NotePad for me) till I get the antidote.

I do not know whether this new form of poetry that I discovered today will help me in the process, but it has at least got me going. If you are alien to the art of haiku, you'd rather get a hang of the thing first and foremost.

My first attempt at the art of haiku... speaks about the feelings on the morning after THAT drunken night...

The morn seems haggard.
A hand tries to reach, in vain.
The alarm screams on.

And for the enthusiast, there a site where I do publish all these articles of mine. You can have a look if you want to.

SWADESH

Well, I am back after a long hibernation period... but I still do not have the power to script my poetry on paper. My mind has weakened for some reason, and I am unable to think the poet's way. Anyways, I do have something to post... I call it the judges' script for our production at the recently concluded Inter Hall Choreography competition. Titled 'SWADESH', the production speaks of the reality that bites Indians who, allured by Western pomp and show, leave their motherland in search of riches, recognition and solace in an alien nation. They do become affluent, but recognition and solace remain far away.

For more........... just read on.....

"All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold…."

William Shakespeare
The Merchant of Venice (Act 2,Scene VII)

An ever growing trend in today's India: an intelligent Indian brain becomes a doctor at the expense of the nation, and then goes abroad. But the story doesn't end in a "Happily Ever After" situation. If you read the newspaper carefully, you will find, in inconspicuous niches, the struggle of Indian doctors fighting for their right to live in UK. In spite of the riches and success, by and large they lead a life of excommunication and ostracism. The Pandora's Box has burst open even in reality tell-tales like CELEBRITY BIG BROTHER.

Today, we embark on the journey of life along with such a representative of the medical fraternity. Mukesh is a simple village boy with a brilliant mind and a fiery desire to make things happen. But does Fate roll the dice against him as well? Let's not jump to conclusions..

While the other village boys frivol their time away, Mukesh works hard for the Medical Entrance Test and eventually tops the examination. His entire village is elated at his success and his father is overjoyed. The laurels keep coming as he graduates and lands up with an offer from a top-notch UK Medical firm.

But then comes the tough choice- the choice between the alluring temptations of a foreign land and that of his ailing father trapped in rustic India. His mind is at war with itself, as Light and Darkness play Tandava. Unfortunately the dark forces emerge victorious, and ignoring his sick father, he embraces the alien nation.

Successes keep coming and riches raining as he comes up with a patent for an Anti-Cancer drug. However, recognition stays aloof. The British refuse to take him into their fold and he is kicked out of elite gatherings in downtown London.

Now the realization dawns that on the other side, the grass is more grim than green. As he dreams, it seems that the whole world is closing in on him and Mukesh feels choked and lonely. In this dark hour he senses the pangs of his conscience; he fears that his Father might be slipping away within the vicious tentacles of Cancer, fears that he has failed as a Son to his Father and a Son to his Nation.

However, Hope remains--- hope that the Parable of the Prodigal son will be proven true once more ….

AND IT IS. The son finally returns to his soil and relieves his father of his ailment. His pursuit of happiness and solace at last comes to a merry conclusion as he is reunited with his father, his family, his village and his motherland. He realizes that the lines are never truer said: "Saare jahaan se achchha. Hindustan hamaara…"

Mukesh does break free of his fetters eventually, but there are several others who still wait patiently for deliverance.

"Des paraaya chhor ke aaja….panchhi pinjra tod ke aaja…"

It has been our honest effort, through this production, to portray the reality of the situation. If we have managed to get our point across to even a small section of the spectators present, we will consider ourselves fortunate…

JAI HIND !!!

NO MAN'S LAND -- A stage adaptation

Yes, this is the same movie which beat Lagaan to the Oscars in 2001......

Yesterday, we did a stage adaptation for the same for the Inter Hall English Dramatics Event, Indian Institute of Technology, Kharagpur.. Incidentally, Yours Truly played the part of Nino in the play.... I also wrote the prologue and the epilogue for the play. The same are published below:

PROLOGUE:

Circa 1992.

The UNPROFOR, already operational in Croatia, deploys some of its troops in a land torn by internal strife- Bosnia-Herzegovina, a nation newly seceded from erstwhile Yugoslavia . Their job?? As of June, to ensure the security and functioning of the airport at Sarajevo, and the delivery of humanitarian assistance to that city and its environs. In September 1992, UNPROFOR's mandate is further enlarged to enable it to support efforts by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees to deliver humanitarian relief throughout Bosnia and Herzegovina, and to protect convoys of released civilian detainees if the Red Cross so requests. The UN troops are specifically ordered NOT to intervene in the war...

Our story unfolds in this status quo of the Bosnian-Serb conflict, a war fueled by ethnic differences and ill statecraft...One of those multifarious instances where diplomacy overrides the real humanitarian cause-- Ladies and gentlemen, today we present before you a chronicle of three men trapped in No Man's Land.....


EPILOGUE:

.. And so they left. All of them. The mortals on their feet, while Tchiki and Nino.....

But they all had one thing in common. They did leave the trench. Cera remained- motionless, helpless. Alive, but lifeless.

It's not that Cera died that day. Perhaps it would have been better if the mine had blown off on the scene itself. But Providence wouldn't have it.

So, Cera lies on the mine till today-- waiting, and .. praying. He has still not lost hope. He still believes that one day, Sgt. Marchand will return to the trench, and free him from the shackles of diplomacy and conflict.

That Sgt. Marchand could be you, yes, you. So why wait and watch? Remember...Neutrality doesn't exist in the face of murder.....