All posts tagged: Magic

LAST FLIGHT OF AN OWL

He kept looking towards the sky while floating in the water kept for cows. Big round button yellow eyes like ever watching you do the doing. His death seemed such that at one time I felt he chose it. But would a predator or anyone can choose his own death? May be. But When Maharaj arrived, he first closed his eyes. May be he needed someone to close his eyes before it could be plucked out. May be he earned this burial. To only put a stop to this cycle. May his body rests and the spirit awakens. Aum Shanti

Passing over the night

It was a day of hardest work. Hardest work is to love. While love being not what you are seeking. Train passes from not so far like it’s in a hurry. Trains are always in a hurry unless you are sitting in one of them. Indian Railways. It was dark when I got up. I didn’t see any dream may be because my head is towards the mother and feet towards the tree. We made nine planets today and filled them first with numbers and later with rice and rawa. We couldn’t finish it as squirrels started eating the rice. A young mataji came with a beautiful girl from a city. She ate peanuts and soon went to sleep in the library. Maharaj came with milk that we shared and logar got a mobile. And the drums were not beaten for the first time tonight.

Whatever Blinks, dies.

Dawn 6 25-26 August 18 12:50 AM Delhi A Pillar is there. She. A god can be either. It has been there ever since Dakshina Kashi happened. I slide curtain from my seventeenth floor to see rain. There is no rain. But its dark. Not dark of the night, clouds. They are going to be there for next six days. It was a strange day, filled with particles in the air and motion. Breaths aren’t deep. Food is untimely. Months end is taking some time to be stable. Rakshabandhan came. My father’s sister was here. Her face swollen with emotion. I had seen here three and heard several times this year. This year she lost her son. He was drunk when he died. And lost her husband few months after. Roberto Calasso’s work was new to me a week ago. But his writing made me dive. not just into the depths of myth. But Personally his narration has been a revelation. The way he skated past through stories like yesterday’s history taking big leaps yet …

Song of the playground

Photograph of the lost memory in flaring heat of Jaisalmer It is hot in Barmer. My right cheek has swelled. Ulcers recognized heat. I am staying with amma here, a Bhopa. Last night we decided to attend Pabu ki phad. Happens rarely now. A local god. Reincarnation of Laksman. Bhopas sing and dance for Pabu. For two nights Bhopas from all across the region had come to sing and dance reciting Pabu’s story. Anada Ram was the most prolific Ravanhatta musician. He died 33 years ago. His wife, Amma never sang after that. I am here to document her son. He never learnt Ravanhatta. He wanted to be a dancer. I have known him for eight months now. There were many other dancers from the community yesterday. Veer was going to show me one of his acts dancing on the mirror glass with fire in his mouth. He does not dance in the community. He is ashamed. I was awed last night. So were six hundred people. He got cut but still kept dancing. His …