Finding my muse

Three years ago, if someone were to walk up to me and ask me about my thoughts on poetry as a way of idle conversation I would have, in all likelihood, given them a quizzical look and blabbered an undecipherable apology before swiftly exiting stage left. As someone who hopes to make a career out of his passion for writing, this is a very odd behaviour to be sure, but I never really found poetry to hold my interest. I do not hate poetry, I just never understood why anyone would ever go in a round about way of twisting their words and making a message more complicated than the Gordian knot. It felt so absurd that writing had so many rules and structure, after all, wasn’t writing something you did to “liberate” yourself? Why then, for the love of God, would anyone find such a restrictive format as poetry so enjoyable and relatable?

As you may have guessed, that was a very naive mindset that proved more of a blockage in my part. I never budged from my viewpoint that poetry was an utter waste of time, so I never touched it. But, as I completed my Bachelors and wandered into the world of post graduate education, I was presented with many subjects regarding poetry. Old habits wanted me to avoid them like the plaque, but after all these years my reflexes had dulled and I ended picking up Crafting Poetry Course.

I did not have high hopes for myself in the course. I was sure I would utterly flop it because I wouldn’t find it in me to take any interest. But, when I noticed my inbox filled with entries of my classmates, each poem so unique to itself, I felt a sudden shift in my mindset. I penned “A Swan Sings Alone” with a single minded purpose of just writing. Experimenting. I wanted to write something short yet descriptive of the way a break up felt to an introvert like myself. I have trouble showing emotions so I tried to use Haiku as a way of showing that bottled up feeling of rage, sadness and all other emotions that come with a broken heart. Once I pressed the “Send” button on my app, I felt, to my surprise, pride. I didn’t know if the poem was going to be received well, but it didn’t matter. This was a personal accomplishment for me.

The next project assigned to us was to write upon a cityscape. And I at once knew what I was going to write about. My experience in Delhi. I quickly penned “Chinaman in Chandni Chowk” as a homage to my first visit to Chandni Chowk. I am a product of a boarding school, so my life has always been about four concrete walls and single line queues. When I stepped out to Chandni Chowk, it was just chaos. I felt like a small mouse, caught in the tide of sweaty bodies. I was clueless and confused, and kept my hands in my pockets the entire time, afraid that I would get robbed. The smell, the noise and sights overloaded my senses. That is what I tried to portray in the poem, an outsider caught in a maelstrom of activity. The archaic architecture, along with the trademark Indian “jugaad” patchwork were wonderful to look at. All the splendour of Chandni Chowk however would have gone incomplete if it weren’t for a touch of “casual racism”. I have a sweet tooth, especially for ladoos and milk cakes. Naturally my idea of a good lunch spot was the local sweet confectionery. The owner was a large man who wanted to know if I was Chinese or Japanese. He had a very aggressive way of trying to get his customers to buy his sweet, and insisted that I buy a whole packet of assorted sweets which he assured me could not be found anywhere in China. I was intimidated by the factual knowledge of the salesman and bowed before him and said, “I am diabetic” before fleeing.

“Grim Polity” was my attempt at a political satire. Of course, I have no idea about politics, so instead of making some very pointed accusations with no knowledge, I chose a very generalized commentary. I believe the poem is reflective of my own lack of understanding. But, it is a cautionary tale, just as Red Riding Hood is to children. There is no big reveal, nor twist, just as it isn’t hard to identify a wolf in grandmother’s clothing. Yet, we get fooled all the same.

Like I have said, I have very recently begun to take interest in poetry, and have been scouring the internet for poems. Most of them are still an enigma, whose meanings and metaphors still shoot past my head. Yet, “Invictus” by William Ernest was a poem that caught my attention. It is a simple poem that made me feel charged with purpose. So my thought began to wander about what it is like for people, humans, that make them strive for success. After much thinking, I decided it must be because each of us strive to be known in some way. Our desire to be remembered and be acknowledged. If not by anyone but oneself. To reflect upon our actions and say, “I have truly achieved something.” So I penned “I rest my Flag”, a short poem that tries to encapsulate people’s struggle to make a mark in the world.

Most days, I never truly know when had I woken up nor how I got to bed. Most part of my schedule has become so routine that I do it without a second thought. I wrote “Flatline” as a way to express this feeling of robotic lifestyle. I kept each line in the poem deliberately short because I didn’t need more words to convey how the day I am describing is going. I am sure many people who read it will understand and feel the flow of the routine without me having to go into intricate detail. The short lines also give that robotic feel to the poem, deprive the narrator of any sense of motivation.

When we were asked to respond to Nitoo Dass poetry, I was dumbstruck. How on earth was I to “respond” to an experienced veteran about her work? It felt like my teacher had just ordered me to skin a grizzly bear armed with nothing more than a pat on the back and a toothpick. What would that do? Help the bear pick off my remains from between his fangs? None the less I went to work, analysing Nitoo Das’ poem. Honestly, didn’t understand any of it. For me, poetry is still that girl in high school that you would have asked out only if your spine hadn’t taken a permanent holiday. I wrote a response to Nitoo Das’ “Poetry of Everyday life”, which had a unique way of looking into common everyday objects. It was fun to read, but a nightmare to respond to. I kept wondering if there was something I was missing, some metaphor I didn’t grasp. Like a pea under the mattress, I still can not sleep comfortably when I think about it.

"The Salesman" was written with a feeling of extreme pessimism. Life as a whole is daunting, and meandering through it is a challenge. Most time I don't know why I do the things I do. I am very prone to second guess myself, but too reluctant to ask for any help. Mostly because I am too conscious about bothering someone. So the feeling of staying away just so I don't disturb someone feels like tiptoeing across broken glass.

A long while ago, I was in a mood to experiment with genres other than "Fantasy". So I tried my hand on writing a thriller. It was called the "Masochrist", a little play on word. In the story, a seemingly good Church-going neighbourhood harbors a dark secret. Christians view the suffering of Christ as a noble sacrifice. Jesus had died for the sins of the people and the world was spared. However, the people in the "Masochrist" see the suffering as something they should all aspire to experience. So the story spirals down towards the darker side of pleasure and pain. The story itself played like some "R-rated" B grade movie. But the idea as a whole felt solid to me. So I tried to translate it to a poem expressing the thought of a "masochrist".

On the whole, as the semester comes to a close, I can look back and say it has been quite a unique experience. This is not me writing off a sketchy good bye, like a high school graduate made to stand behind the podium and forced to say “some thing nice” about their life at school. This is as honest as I can get with myself, on paper, the medium I am most comfortable sharing my experience and feelings in. Crafting poetry threw me a googly, and unlike cricket, I quite enjoyed the effort of taking a swing and hoping for the best. Poetry has suddenly become much more open and accessible to me, creating a new frontier of experience.