SS Dara

I remember reading somewhere about an indigenous people- Africa or South America or some place – they refuse to be photographed. They believe that their souls would be captured in the images and they would be damned forever.

Ruminating over the past, I recollect many faces. Some having some significance, some relation, some reason to remember. But curiously, there are so many others who had just passed through my life – a casual meeting, a glance- and their faces have been imprinted in my mind forever. I am, I guess, carrying a little bit of their souls in me...

When I was a little boy in the early 60s – it must have been in '64 or '65, an obituary used to appear in the Malayala Manorama Daily every year. I think it kept on appearing till mid-70s. Either I would have forgotten to look or it stopped being published. Anyway, I am sure that it hasn't come since the 80s. It was a black and white picture of a beautiful young mother with a western kind of hairstyle of the 50s. 

Those who are familiar with Phantom Comics would remember Ms Diana Palmer, Phantom's girl friend and later wife, who was an Olympic diver. It was kind of bobbed, fluffed above the forehead and reached upto shoulders. This lady had the same hairstyle as that of Diana. ( Now, my young friends, laugh if you wish, but Phantom was our staple diet in the 60's. Beautiful comic books, comic strips in Sunday edition of Malayala Manorma, in the Illustrated Weekly – how I miss Illustrated Weekly – every issue would carry one SINGLE picture of a scantily-clad woman – usually in a bikini – my sister and I would conspiratorially giggle looking at it - it was very rare to see the kind of pictures that are common now.

Sorry, I have digressed. This mother and child, yes. The box said - 'In Memoriam', above the picture. The mother sat slightly turned towards her left. The young child sat on her lap. I remember she had a beautiful profile. I have forgotten her name, but beneath the photo it said - SS Dara – 1961.

I remember I was fascinated by them. Every year they would appear and I would look at them longingly, with great pain. Then, after a few years, it must have settled down at the bottom of my heart, like a decaying leaf, gently, gently...

A couple of months back, I remembered them. I googled SS DARA and there it was! On 8th April 1961, the S S Dara was on its way from Bombay to Kuwait. After leaving Oman, just a few nautical miles off shore, it blew up. It is said that it was bombed by an Omani terrorist. The sea was rough, the captain couldn't turn the ship back to the harbour. Other ships came to the rescue, but 238 passengers perished. This is what a book on SS Dara’s mishap says : "The explosion of a bomb in Dara, a steamship of the British India Line, in the early hours of 8th April, 1961, when she was at sea in the Persian Gulf with 819 passengers on board, has been attributed to Omani rebels. It was an act of war in peacetime, and its victims were Indians, Pakistanis and Arabs - men, women and children Two hundred and thirty-eight people lost their lives in the flames or in the sea...

This young mother and child must have been passengers in it. I tried tracing them through a journalist friend in Malayala Manorama, but their archives haven't been digitized that way back; he has said he would give it a try. One day I casually mentioned this to my colleagues in the Bank, and Susan, in her late 50s, said she too remembered them. What a coincidence! Susan even remembered their names; Gloria and Sayu mol.

Sometime back I had written about how seemingly unimportant incidents cling on in our memory. A face there, a face here, a flower here, a breeze there. I agree with you when you pooh-pooh all this sentimental mush. Absolutely meaningless. Quite likely the lady's husband too would have passed away. There might not be any family. Even if there is, how many would remember or care to remember something that happened 50 years ago?

Well, I would, if you don't mind. SS Dara is part of my boyhood, my life. I wish they weren't dead, that beautiful mother and sweet child. I remember a young boy of 7 or 8 lying on the floor and reading the newspaper spread before him. His chin supported by the left palm, the right, holding down the paper, he swung his calves alternately and gazed at the picture with pain in his heart. I love that boy; therefore I cannot forget SS Dara.

********** Balachandran, Trivandrum, 09.03.2010

POST SCRIPT DATED 12.06.2013

Ms Nabila Khanam, whose comment can be seen below sent me the following information about the SS Dara incident. Her aunts who are now no more,  were among the survivors of the mishap. I hope those readers who are searching on SS Dara would find it useful.  Among those who succumbed were fathers and mothers and family members of many amongst you. My prayers and condolences to all of you. May the departed souls rest in peace. 

DOCUMENT #1

DARA

M.V. Dara was a British Indian Steam Navigation Company liner, built in 1948, Barclay, Curle and Co; 5,030 tons 398.7 x 54.8; 14 knotts; oil engines.

Dara mostly travelled between the Arabian Gulf and the Indian continent, carrying expatriate passengers who had employment in the Gulf States. She had accomodation for 20 1st Class, 54 2nd Class and 1377 deck passengers.

A bomb exploded on board, while off the coast of Dubai, on the 8th April 1961 which caused the vessel to eventually sink. It was never clearly established who planted the bomb, or why, but there was a high loss of life attributed to the incident, despite the fact that no one was on board when it sank. At the time, it was the worst peace time disasters on the high seas, second to the Titanic. There is some conjecture that, due to the circumstances, the perpetrator of the crime may also have been on board at the time of the explosion. Captained by Charles Elson, there was a total of 819 on board, including 19 officers and 113 crew; 238 died from burns or drowning.

The vessel had sailed from Bombay on the 23rd May on a round trip to Basera, calling at intermediate ports. It had arrived at Dubai on the 7th April and was unloading cargo, embarking and disembarking passengers when a violent storm of wind and rain prevented further work. Capt. Elison decided to take the ship out of harbour to ride the storm. There was not time to disembark persons on board who did not intend to travel. These included relatives and friends seeing off the passengers, hawkers, cargo labourers and shipping/ immigration officials. It was while returning to harbour after the storm, at about 04.40 Hrs on the morning of the 8th, that there was a heavy explosion between decks (Click here to see plan) and the ship caught fire.

There was a certain amount of panic among the crew and passengers and many perished by jumping into the sea or by over crowded lifeboats, which capsized. There were several ships close at hand and help was given by British, German, Japanese and Norwegian vessels.

Three British frigates and a US destroyer, sent parties on board and were able to get the fire under control. Dara was then taken in tow by the the Glasgow salvage vessel OCEAN SALVOR, but sank at 09.20 Hrs on April 10th.

REPORT From HMS Buldog 22/05/70: -

The wreck lies in approximately 15 m of water and is in a 093°/273° direction with her bowes pointing East. It lies on its starboard side and the main mast is visible at 2m above mean high water.

RAF Search and Rescue: -

The following message was left in the guest book by Jack Frith on the 21/10/04. He has kindly agreed for me to repeat the message here, (thanks Jack).

I was the captain of the Search and Rescue Shackleton that was sent from Aden to search for and aid the Dara. The photograph that you are using was taken by one of my crew from the beam position on the aircraft when we arrived on scene. I dropped a Lindholm rescue gear (contained a dingy, food, water etc) to what appeared to be some surviviors in the water but since no effort was made to reach the gear it had to be assumed that we were too late. Seems a long time ago now.

First Hand Account of Events: -

The following is an abridged message left on the 13/12/06 by Peter Jordan, ex Chief Officer at the time on the Dara. (thanks Peter).

I was in fact chief officer on board that terrible night, so am fully aware of the sequence of events.

The explosion occurred outside the vishiwala galley which went through to the engine room bulkhead and up through 2 decks, which were the passenger and main lounge. Having checked, as best as possible, there was no way of containing the fire due to the fact that the bomb had disrupted all electrical, fire water and steering module, so we had no choice but to abandon ship.

Alarms by this time were already going off, crew were alerted and due to the weather, which was almost gale force, the fires spread rapidly. We launched lifeboats, but due to the panic, one lifeboat in particular, I recall, was overcrowded and overturned in the rough sea. Another life boat manned by the second officer Charlie ??(can't remember) had been damaged by a Greek Vessel which had dragged her anchor and collided with our bow and damaged the lifeboat and a few other parts of the ship some hours prior to the explosion! This lifeboat full of people, though almost sinking due to the damage, was rescued by a Norwegian Tanker's Lifeboat. This same Norwegian Tanker came steaming in despite the fact they were not gas free ( i.e. at high risk themselves of exploding) and saved many many lives including my own. I wish to thank them very much.

As for, dare I say it, the Empire Guillemot, we called her by Morse light and asked for help, but due to her cargo of bombs and explosives she could not and would not come close for fear of explosion; that is a fact!! She sat out there like, well I’m sorry there was no excuse, they were the nearest ship to us, and sat there, they could have steamed in, dropped some lifeboats and moved on, but alas did not. As for reports I have read, that they saved lives, well they did not, they may have had survivors picked up by the Norwegians transferred to their ship, but that is all.

I am 75 years of age now, so can speak freely of the events that occurred that night. I do not wish to incite any anger or change to what has been said and written, but facts are facts, and I can only say the truth as it was. I do not wish to put a damper on the Dara as a Dive site, however, for me at least she is Gravesite for all the people who lost their lives that terrible day and should be respected as such.

* Note by Clive: - While respecting Peter’s views regarding Dara being used as a dive site, and it may be appropriated to regard it as a memorial to those who died, it is my information that the ship had been boarded by US and British naval personnel, as explained above, and was in tow when it went down. As such it is assumed that all the crew and passengers had had the chance to leave the ship. There may have been the bodies of anyone killed by the blast, still on board but I can say that in almost fifty years the wreck has been dived, I had never heard of anyone coming across any remains.

Diving on Dara

In the late 70s and early 80s the writer was a member of the local diving club in Dubai and dived, with the other members of the club, on the wreck of Dara.

Many souvenirs were taken from the wreck at this time, in the way of portholes lanterns, and anything brass. One of these portholes now serves as opening in brick fireplace which views into a fish tank behind; another has been made into a clock. It is doubtful whether the wreck, to date, has anything left to be to relinquish. One of the club members' eventually bought the salvage rights of the wreck and by now there may be little left. (Perhaps anyone reading this, who knows the site and the current state of the wreck, might leave a message in the guest book on the Home Page). 
This is a recent account of the wreck. Kindly provided,on the 10/12/06, by Doug Fontaine who is a current member of the 406 club. Thanks Doug.

The Dara is well broken up now and it’s easy to get lost, the bow is still fairly well intact or should I say one side of it is; the anchor is still in place, the two masts now lie on the seabed, heading towards the wreck with the masts in front of you the bows are to your right.

DOCUMENT #2

SINKING OF THE M.V. "DARA"

HL Deb 11 April 1961 vol 230 cc244-5244

3.38 p.m.

LORD CHESHAM 

My Lords, I think it might be convenient if I intervened at this stage to make a statement similar to that which has just been made by my right honourable friend the Minister of Transport in another place.

I am informed that the British India Steam Navigation Company's motor vessel "Dara", of 5,030 gross tons, was anchored in the port of Dubai on Friday evening, April 7, when she was struck by another vessel which had dragged anchor. The master decided to put to sea as the weather was deteriorating, intending to return in the morning. A total of 770 persons, including 132 members of the crew, are known to have been on board.

Early on Saturday morning, an S.O.S. was sent reporting the outbreak of fire, and the ship was abandoned at about 6.30 a.m., when some 40 miles from the shore. An Army tank landing craft, a number of ships of the Royal Navy, and several British and foreign merchant ships proceeded to the scene and picked up survivors. Five hundred and eighty persons were saved, but it is feared that the 190 who are missing, including 30 members of the crew, have lost their lives.

After the ship had been abandoned, fire-fighting operations were undertaken from alongside the vessel in difficult conditions by three Royal Navy frigates. She was taken in tow, but finally sank on Monday morning some five miles off the coast before she could be beached.

My right honourable friend the Minister of Transport has ordered a formal investigation, which will be held in public, into the tragic circumstances attending the loss of this ship, and the necessary preliminary inquiries are already in hand. The House will wish me to express its deep sympathy with the relatives of those who have lost their lives and with the injured, and to pay tribute to the efforts of all those who took part in rescue operations, without which the loss of life would undoubtedly have been even more serious.

VISCOUNT ALEXANDER OF HILLSBOROUGH

My Lords, I am grateful to the noble Lord for giving the House the statement made in another place on this shocking disaster. We join with him in extending our sympathy, as I am sure all Members of the House will desire to do, with the relatives of those who have lost their lives. I do not think that it is possible at this time to make any comment on the incident. There will be an inquiry. One wonders how such a thing could have happened so suddenly, and I do not know whether we shall ever be able to get the true facts. I hope that as soon as the Minister is able, he will publish a report of the inquiry and give us a chance of studying it.

LORD AMULREE

My Lords, on behalf of noble Lords on these Benches, I also should like to thank the Minister for the statement he has made, and to associate my noble friends and myself with the sympathy expressed to the relatives of those who have lost their lives in this disaster.

 

 

  

This is a badge from a BI envelope of 1939, taken from the BI web site: http://www.biship.com/index.htm 
For some nice paintings of ships, further BI information, livery & insignia, click on the above link to view their site.

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Moral of the story

(c) http://chennaitamilnaduindia.blogspot.com/

Subbu had commented in my post, ' Riding into sunset' that all my posts have a message; it could be true if one looks for a message. But yes, I guess a moral or a message appears in them. This is probably due to the reflective nature of my posts. That is my ego at work.

In the last post, 'Jack of all trades etc', I had said that my ego had taken severe beatings at times. The word ego is one among the most misunderstood words. We have given it a negative colouring. Mostly we mean 'egotist' or 'egocentric' when we say 'egoist'. I will not bring in Freud or Jung here, but my old Collins dictionary. 'Ego' is the self or the 'conscious thinking subject'. 'Egoism' is the theory that bases morality on self-interest. Coming to 'egotist', the negative sense of self-conceit or selfishness or self-centredness appears.

Sometime ago a friend asked me how I 'dare' to write such personal, intimate thoughts in the blog. I replied that, that I find a universality in many of my experiences is the reason. When I write about family matters, relationships with others, connecting with nature, of romance, of personal grief – when I write – it takes on a universal dimension. I realise that my petty problems or simple pleasures are not unique but common. In my poems too, I have tried to convey something more than the obvious. Like Subbu or Sandy if others too sense it, I am happy. I try to connect, you see. I share. This is egoism at work, not egocentrism.

Long ago in one of my solo trips to Himalayas, as I sat in the bus that rode through the foothills of the mountains, I saw a hoarding. It said – 'Share your Joy and Double it!' I do not remember whose ad it was, but given to solo trips, it struck me somewhere.

Today I gave away my spare 14” colour TV to a friend who lives in the forests. He is a Kani, an indigenous people. They have solar power, but no TV channel. He has grown-up children who would like to watch movies in a CD player. I gave him K's bicycle, old but serviceable which the kids in the hamlet can ride. My friend's family and mine know each other for more than 20 years. His daughter is at K's age. His father was P's tracker and guide during her reseach days. Whenever the city gets too much for me, I run away to this little patch of solitude in the woods.

I don't know about doubling my joy, I can't be bothered with that. But with a shy smile, hoping that it will not have a tinge of patronisation or condescension, I would like to imagine my friend and family sitting in front of the TV and enjoying the movies. I would like to imagine the little boys and girls vying for a ride on K's BSA Champ which would go jumping and hopping and clanging over the unpaved paths and the dogs barking and running after them. I would like to imagine their laughter, the laughter of freedom.

********** Balachandran, Trivandrum 6-03-2010

Jack of all trades or Master of one?

While discussing K’s future course of life, I tell him that his choice of psychology is fine but there are several other interesting options. Like wildlife biology, social work, sound engineering ( K has a keen ear for music) archeology, forestry etc.,. Subjects close to my heart. K cocks his head and says – ‘Look, Pops (he has such affectations at times), I have observed the lives of you two, you and mother. You have so many interests, one can see it from all the weird books you have in your library. But tell me frankly, where have they taken you? You haven’t reached anywhere, have you? I mean, you have been a small-time bank official all your life, 30 years in a Bank, phew! And hating every minute of it. But look at mother. She had focused on teaching and Botany right as a young girl, now she is a Professor, quite respected, Head of her department, has a PhD too. Looking at the two of you, I believe that her path is better; so there, I am focusing on my favourite subject and would like to go on and build a life around it’.

It might seem a bit cruel for him to say that I have not reached anywhere but I don’t feel the pain because what he said is true. It wouldn’t be true if I said I hadn’t wanted to reach anywhere. But early in life I reckoned that there are too many interesting things in the world to focus on one. Specialization, like somebody said, is for insects. A man had to know everything. I thought hell, there is only one life, and I want to taste as many things as possible. I would rather be a dilettante in many things rather than an expert in one. Fact is, my ego had to take severe beatings several times.

But it was a deliberate choice. Though at times of rueful reflection I have suspected my characteristic lethargy behind the decision not to pursue any single thing deep. Still I am unclear which would be the right choice. Looking back at my 50 plus years here, I cannot imagine what my life would have been without – starting from stamp collection and Agatha Christie at 10 to romance, travel, trekking, photography, movies, music, Kathakali, Sociology, tribal life, bird watching, organic farming, environmental activism, biking, poetry, HIMALAYAS, dogs, spirituality, family – bank has provided my bread, but it would have been a stale life if I hadn’t all these and a few more I cannot recollect. All I had wanted in my youth is a job so that I will be independent and still free to do most of the things that I wanted to do. Yes, I agree that the even the single track-minded have more than one interest, but they ensure that their energies are not dissipated.

I wish my son all the best. But I hope that in his urge to reach the destination he wouldn’t forget to enjoy the sceneries en route.

************ Balachandran V, Trivandrum 04.03.2010

Riding into sunset

Nearly 3 years ago, I went for a long ride on my motorcycle to the highest motorable pass in the world, Khardung La in the Himalayas. I was in a group of about 50 riders; all of us on our Royal Enfield Bikes. We rode from New Delhi to Leh and Khardung La via Chandigarh and Manali. On the return leg we went to Amritsar and the Wagha border.

I do not recollect the faces of all my fellow riders. They were mostly youngsters in their 20s and 30s; a few in their 40s and at 50, I was the senior most rider. But there were lots of photographs and I see them all. A few days back I learnt that one of them, Naveen, died in an accident. I confirmed who he is in my album. I looked at his young face, the lean, macho looks, and the daredevil pose. He was from a group called the Roadshakers, in Pune. I remember him racing through the difficult, hilly terrain, standing up as he flew over the loose stones and rocks and taking curves at breakneck speeds. He was an expert rider.

I do not remember reading the obituary column as diligently as I do now until in my mid-40s, when one by one, familiar faces started appearing in the column. Not with fear, but with dreary, weary apprehension, one listens to the tolling bells.

For a few days after the news of his death, condolence notes used to appear in the Yahoo-group. Not all of us, mind you, just a few. In a couple of weeks, we too will relegate Naveen's memory to the backyard of our mind and after that, it might get wiped off. I look at Naveen's face again and wonder. I look at the faces in the obituary columns and wonder. I remember all those whom I knew and who had passed on. I look at the living, thinking that they too will die one day; so would I.

I am, as always, humbled by the vacuum that I see.

*************** Balachandran, Trivandrum 03.03.2010

The Flower Market

(C): www.flickr.com/photos/8974048@N08/2681468927

Do not leave, my friend, do not

Leave me with just a glance.

Do not just caress me and leave

Do not just pick me up and smell

My fragrance and throw me back in the basket.

I have been plucked, tenderly

With care not to smudge or crush

My lovely petals even now damp with dew

I wait for thee to hold me to your chest

And take in deep all I have to offer

Look, look at my colour, my grace and beauty

Smell me deep, my sweet scent!

Let me adorn your beloved's head

Or soothe her eyes, still, in the pot.

Let me remind her of you, of your love

For all thats worth in the world is just love.

This is all I have to offer thee, my friend

My life, though it be brief.

Take me, my friend, let me be

A fleeting memory and later

Scatter me to the winds.

What more do I need

What more to fulfill

What more be the purpose of my life?

************ Balachandran, Trivandrum 25.02.2010

The Aquarian

‘I am tired’, thought he, as he poured

‘Where has it all gone, the sweet waters

That glinted silver in the morning sun

That glistened in the pale moon light

That I carried from afar and gave

So that men and beasts and plants

And the dry crumbling earth may thrive

So that life may spark in them

So that Thy creations shall not grieve!’

Wiping sweat off his brow

He paused as he heard a voice.

He raised his head, looked up

As he saw a vision.

Clouds parted before him –

Above, in the sky,

The clouds drew a painting.

Men, the Aquarian saw

Had fouled the waters with filth.

Poisons spread, laying waste the fish

Wetlands were filled with soil

Seas turned red in oil

Trees were felled

Rivers were dammed

Ponds were killed

Birds were dead

Beasts, bloated, floated dead

In the sweet and clear water

That now turned an angry black.

Clouds closed up the sky –

Then a wind blew, howling

And it rained black, red blood.

Beside him kneeled the last child of earth

Huddling, hugging the last green plant.

************* Balachandran V, Trivandrum 22.02.2010

This is a 'commissioned' poem. I was asked to give a poem for a magazine's special issue on water. The poem may undergo deletion/alterations , though I submitted it since the deadline had arrived. It is kind of 'contrived' - I don't like it much, myself!

Into every word goes a bit of my soul

The books in my library, those other than I inherited from my late father, bear my signature, date and place where I bought them. It is not, as you may think, a mark of my ownership; it is a sign that each of them contains a bit of my soul. Looking at each of them, I can recollect the moment I saw the book, caressed, smelled it, leafed through and with muc pleasure and excitement paid for and became its happy owner. Similarly, my friends, believe me, into every word that I write here, goes a bit of my soul. Read them together – and what I gift you with is what I can call really my own – my self. Scattered among these virtual pages lies kaleidoscopic Balachandran V. You roll it, shake it, take it to light – you have every right to like or dislike, love or hate me.

I am happy that all of you found my gift of C K Williams most endearing. Reading his poems, I gather an image of C K Williams and am humbled that he let me into his soul.

The other poem that I wanted to share with you is not Shame, but Harm – forgive the vagrant memory of an old man! Again, it is not available in the ‘net – therefore I will type it down here. I hope C K Williams would forgive me for this violation of his copyright etc, but believe me, Mr. Williams, I am paying a tribute to you. I would love to buy copies of your ‘A Dream of Mind’ which has ‘Harm’ in it and give to all my friends, but am too poor to do that. All I can hope and fantasize is that perhaps you might read me one day and think of me as a kindred soul who looks up at you, you, like a bright star in the sky…

There is a reason why I am taking this effort. I want you, my friends, to look beyond the walls that surround us. Beyond the walls lies the vast and eternal ocean of life. It is beautiful, ugly; serene, tempestuous. I would like you to look at life the way C K looks at it – with compassion, with dispassion; with love, with detachment; touched and untouched. If what you see is disquieting, remember that it is only your reaction; reality is real and unchanging. All that changes is your perception of life. In perceiving life, you perceive yourself – that is all life is about – understanding and marveling at the you in you. Do not be judgmental, on you or anybody else. Be open and vast like the skies and the sea and the forests that lead to the edge of the horizon. The void and darkness invariably follows – later.

Harm – by C K Williams

With his shopping car, his bags of booty and his wine, I’d always found him inoffensive.

Every neighbourhood has one or two these days; ours never rants at you at least or begs.

He just forages the trash all day, drinks and sings and shadowboxes,

then at nightfall finds a doorway to make camp, set out his battered little radio and slab of rotting foam.

The other day, though, as I was going by, he stepped abruptly out between parked cars,

Undid his pants, and, not even bothering to squat, sputtered out a noxious, almost liquid stream.

there was that, and that his bony shanks and buttocks were already stained beyond redemption,

That his scarlet testicles were blown up bigger than a bull’s with some sorrowful disease,

and that a slender adolescent girl from down the block happened by right then, and looked,

and looked away, and looked at me, and looked away again, and made me want to say to her,

because I imagined what she must have felt, It’s not like this, really, it’s not this,

but she was gone, so I could think, But isn’t it like this, isn’t this just what it is?

***********************

My most sincere and warm regards to you all. I value you; immeasurably.

Balachandran, Trivandrum, 12.02.2010

C K Williams

C K Williams is one of my favourite poets. Though his collections are quite expensive, I do have a couple with me. The uniqueness of the structure of his lines as well as the subject matter is quite striking. I would like to share with you a couple of his poems.

On the Metro
by C. K. Williams

On the metro, I have to ask a young woman to move the packages beside her to make room for me;
she’s reading, her foot propped on the seat in front of her, and barely looks up as she pulls them to her.
I sit, take out my own book—Cioran, The Temptation to Exist—and notice her glancing up from hers
to take in the title of mine, and then, as Gombrowicz puts it, she “affirms herself physically,” that is,
becomes present in a way she hadn’t been before: though she hasn’t moved, she’s allowed herself
to come more sharply into focus, be more accessible to my sensual perception, so I can’t help but remark
her strong figure and very tan skin—(how literally golden young women can look at the end of summer.)
She leans back now, and as the train rocks and her arm brushes mine she doesn’t pull it away;
she seems to be allowing our surfaces to unite: the fine hairs on both our forearms, sensitive, alive,
achingly alive, bring news of someone touched, someone sensed, and thus acknowledged, known.

I understand that in no way is she offering more than this, and in truth I have no desire for more,
but it’s still enough for me to be taken by a surge, first of warmth then of something like its opposite:
a memory—a girl I’d mooned for from afar, across the table from me in the library in school now,
our feet I thought touching, touching even again, and then, with all I craved that touch to mean,
my having to realize it wasn’t her flesh my flesh for that gleaming time had pressed, but a table leg.
The young woman today removes her arm now, stands, swaying against the lurch of the slowing train,
and crossing before me brushes my knee and does that thing again, asserts her bodily being again,
(Gombrowicz again), then quickly moves to the door of the car and descends, not once looking back,
(to my relief not looking back), and I allow myself the thought that though I must be to her again
as senseless as that table of my youth, as wooden, as unfeeling, perhaps there was a moment I was not.

******************

The other poem that I wanted to give here was 'The Shame'. However, it is not available in the internet.

I am sure some of you would have read C K Williams; this post is for those who haven't. I hope you will share my enthusiasm for CK.

******** Balachandran Trivandrum 11.02.2010

P S. btw, today is my actual ( read non-official) 52nd birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ME!! :D

Full Moon and Friends

To get to the sandbar at one end of the reservoir, one has to walk about a kilometer through forests, crossing a stream en route. I had been coming to this place for nearly 25 years. For bird watching at first; then with P for her research work. Last weekend, once again, my old friend Dr Sreenivasan and I went there to camp out in the open under a full moon.

One of the blessings of getting older is the company of old friends. You can be you with them. No need to pretend. They know you thorough and thorough and hopefully, they respect and love you for what you are. I am sure otherwise they wouldn’t spare their time and life for you. I would always remember how Doc and I met first. A common friend had introduced us, as one birdwatcher to another. Within 5 minutes, we decided to go on a long bike ride to Thattekad Sanctuary for bird watching. The relationship retains the same flavour and fervour it had 23 years ago. We go to the wilderness once in a while, though both are too lazy to do extensive bird watching now. Generally we booze, discuss food and philosophy in the same breath.

The day was January 30 and we blundered as ever; no liquor shops on Gandhiji’s death anniversary! Fortunately, another friend supplied us the vital fluid in sufficient quantity.

We were much excited this time. One, the full moon; two, Doc’s recently acquired new tarp, which his son’s friend in the States had gifted to him. One of the many passions we shared was sleeping outdoors, with a little fire to warm the body and a little spirit for the spirit. We had another friend with us this time, Gopi, a well-known wildlife photographer, who had chucked his job as Photo Editor in a very popular English Weekly and now freelanced and free rolled in the forests.

As the sun set, we set up our camp on the sand bar at the edge of the waters of the reservoir. We could hear a lot of birds, the jungle fowl as usual the loudest. Hoof marks of Gaur and Elephant spoor nearby gave us hope. From the woods around, came the cough of the Sambar deer and the hoot of the Macaques and clucking of the Giant Squirrel. We set up the tarp, one end tied to a rectangular frame and the other sloping end to sticks stuck in the sand. Ground sheet is spread and sleeping bags rolled out. Glasses are brought out, snacks opened and the fizz and booze kept at hand. We gather wood and light the fire as the moon breaks out from behind the mountain slopes.

Those who have lit and tended campfires would know how joyous and serene is to watch the fire. The crackling of burning wood, the flames leaping this way and that way, the occasional re-arrangement of the logs and the silence... one shouldn't talk much; turn the ears outward as Deer’s' footfall crush dried leaves, as Owls hoot, as Lapwings titter and Jungle Fowls cackle. Sipping Whiskey, one stares at the flames, content.

Gopi had been on a Bullet ride to Ladakh recently, like I did a couple of years ago. We swap stories, exclaim at the memories of those haunting landscapes. Gopi talks about his wildlife adventures; how he was sitting in the middle of nowhere in Bandipur forests and the lone tusker padded by behind him. The long wait for a Black buck jumping, the sight of a Marsh Harrier snapping up prey, the pensive macaque watching for tidbits.

The full moon came up and grew larger. In the forest, everything was lit up. But the mountains had gone under the mist that rose along with the night. We sat in silence as frogs croaked and fish jumped in the water. Sometimes we could hear the breaking of twigs; deers were moving about nearby. Chill wind blew and we sat closer to the fire, gripping our glasses. We were warm; the fire, the whiskey and the company of close friends.

In the night, I dream Gaurs standing next to me and nipping at the tarp. Sambar deers hopped across the narrow channel and huddled near the fire. I wake up several times as do my friends. We tend the fire and sit looking around as the forests slept all around us. In the morning, we wake up to the calls of a dozen different species of birds.

I feel sorry for people who cannot enjoy the simple pleasures of life. Like home-cooked food. Playing with dogs. Watching night sky. Looking at bonfires. Walking in the mountains. Being with bosom friends. Last week, a relative of mine about my age, a millionaire business man, was puzzled when I told him that I was going to the forests. 'Where will you shit?', he asked. I said, 'Out in the open and clean ourselves in the stream'. 'What about snakes and insects', he wanted to know. 'Wouldn't animals attack you? What will you do for food?'. I shrugged. ‘We manage', I said. On the contrary, I couldn't understand him, late-night partying everyday at his posh club, hardly any close friends other than business associates and competitors. I am not saying my life is better, but just that I would not swap my life for his; not for his fleet of cars and mansions and foreign jaunts.

What I would like is to be like the Moon – move gently across the vast skies, among the stars. In the wee hours of the morning, I would disappear slowly behind the hills, leaving a pale light, making way for the sun.

********** Balachandran, Trivandrum, 3.02.2010

Photos Copyright: Gopinath Sricandane