If I could write even a smidgen of poetry I would be a neo-romantic. I had pictured myself as a nihilist, unsentimental realist in the vein of the deliciously cynnical Philip Larkin or an outspoken erratic Ted Hughes.
But there you have it...as I was reading Dylan's 'Poem in October' and 'Hunchback in the Park' it struck me with the force of a slap. Honestly, it was enough to turn my stomach. I am a nostalgic fool fervently pressing down, with gentle fingers, faded memories of my life back in Gulmohar Park, Delhi. Back when life was so amazingly uncomplicated except for a burden called school.
If I ever got around to writing that dratted book it would be about us - a pack of vagabonds flying kites near Harivansh Rai Bachchan's house hoping that one would snag and we would finally find out if Bachchanji really did have a rooftop swimming pool. It would be us carefully cultivating Famous Five and Secret Seven mannerisms, looking for hidden islands and obvious mysteries. Us, climbing trees and sending garbled torch signals house to house....us splattered across different cities, still in touch and so mundanely adult.
"And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of Sunlight
And the legends of the green chapels.
And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine"
- Poem in October (Dylan Thomas)
Why a venerable old gentleman should soak in a rooftop pool is anybody's guess but for us that was the epitome of all things unattainable - a rooftop that was was probably dotted with sodden junk and Amitabh's rusting baby pram - but we never did find out and perhaps it is better this way.
Blast frm the Past - Nostalgia Trip on this blog
But there you have it...as I was reading Dylan's 'Poem in October' and 'Hunchback in the Park' it struck me with the force of a slap. Honestly, it was enough to turn my stomach. I am a nostalgic fool fervently pressing down, with gentle fingers, faded memories of my life back in Gulmohar Park, Delhi. Back when life was so amazingly uncomplicated except for a burden called school.
If I ever got around to writing that dratted book it would be about us - a pack of vagabonds flying kites near Harivansh Rai Bachchan's house hoping that one would snag and we would finally find out if Bachchanji really did have a rooftop swimming pool. It would be us carefully cultivating Famous Five and Secret Seven mannerisms, looking for hidden islands and obvious mysteries. Us, climbing trees and sending garbled torch signals house to house....us splattered across different cities, still in touch and so mundanely adult.
"And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of Sunlight
And the legends of the green chapels.
And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine"
- Poem in October (Dylan Thomas)
Why a venerable old gentleman should soak in a rooftop pool is anybody's guess but for us that was the epitome of all things unattainable - a rooftop that was was probably dotted with sodden junk and Amitabh's rusting baby pram - but we never did find out and perhaps it is better this way.
Blast frm the Past - Nostalgia Trip on this blog
- Where Are the Soviet Books
- To Kill a Mocking Bird
- Give Me My Monopoly
- And just a bit on poetry. I have changed...having come to appreciate poetry courtesy AU
- Crabby Poetry
