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Ram R. V. Poem
Once there was a famous king,
More famous than Ozymandias.
His name was King Wolf.
Sultan was his nickname.
He called himself a benevolent despot;
And his style of government
A ‘democratic dictatorship.’
He spoke good English—
A foreign language, though;
Only a minor problem with 'l' and 'r':
Once, for instance, a reporter asked him,
"What about elections, Your Majesty?"
His response:
"Why, I have them everyday!"
The poor reporter was thoroughly confused.
His kingdom was a land of superlatives:
The oldest civilization,
The largest standing army,
The largest population,
The largest exporter—of people,
The largest emitter of carbon dioxide,
Now the second largest exporter of goods, too,
And will soon be the largest.
Since his was the most populous kingdom,
Demography was his obsession,
Which he called his specialization.
Of course, Sultan had tried his best
To check population growth—
By means of family planning.
It didn't work.
So he curbed people’s Right to have children.
But still there was a huge difference
Between the optimum number
And ground reality!
Therefore, Sultan hatched a wonderful plan:
Started a war with a friendly neighbour.
Every section of twenty soldiers in his army
Had just one primitive rifle between them:
If a soldier went on,
He would be shot.
If he went back,
Again, he would be shot.
A Catch-22!
Many of his men were slaughtered.
But still Sultan won—by sheer numbers!
Oh, God!
But the King did not believe in God.
Like king, like people!
But the dead soldiers were only a small number.
So, now another plan:
Government is the boss.
Let people overwork.
Sultan cracked the whip.
And a number of people died—
Of overwork, year after year.
Further reduction in population.
Production increased:
Cheap goods flooded the world market:
From PCs to push-up bras.
No warranty.
The economy boomed.
Ah, his kingdom became a Big Power!
But once some workers gathered
In the Capital and protested—
Against exploitation.
The name of Karl Marx was in the air.
“Listen,” Sultan roared, “Marx died—
Long ago.
So should you—now,
For raising his name in vain.”
So, still further reduction in population!
Now, when this narrative ended,
Sultan was busy, planning for another war.
Poor soul!
How else could he solve the problem—
Of overpopulation?!
***
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017
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Ram R. V. Poem
A scientist pursuing research—
with disinterested curiosity,
Poets distancing themselves—
from personal emotions,
from ‘personality’ (in Eliot’s idiolect),
A sportsperson focusing on the event—
not obsessed with results,
demonstrating sporting spirit,
Anyone doing their karma—
regardless of results,
as characterized in Indian scriptures,
notably the Gita—
All these are instances of detachment—
Of varying degrees
And of course in various domains.
Thus, they all fit into a paradigm.
The old order changeth, yielding place to new!
There was a paradigm shift in the globe—
A mutation.
Detachment suddenly changed
To (greedy) Attachment—to profit.
And the Rat Race started.
It originated in Keiser’s pre-War Germany.
Chemical industry sponsored Academic programmes.
Welcome!
But chemical weapons were piling up.
Oh, what a pity!
And war seemed to be the only solution—
To dispose of the weapons.
Dreadful!
No free lunch!
A weak Kaiser yielded.
Germany plunged into war—
A development not dissimilar
To the piling up of warheads in the US,
Leading to the Gulf War.
Germany lost.
Kaiser abdicated and fled.
Now, a broken Germany
Had to launch another war,
To salvage its economy—
With far more disastrous consequences this time.
The Fatherland broke down.
Führer killed himself.
Germany was broken in two.
But the new paradigm continued to work—
Spread globally.
The world came to be governed
By corporate concerns,
T&C.
No free lunch!
The rat race continued
And still continues,
At breakneck speed,
Between the two Geopolitical Blocs,
Between members of the same Bloc!
What about ideology, then?
No problem.
No free lunch!
The paradigm shift means
Commodification, Cutthroat competition,
Aggressive marketing, Subliminal appeal,
Throwaway mode,
Exploitation of labour.
What about ideology, then?
No problem.
No free lunch!
Benjamin Bloom came.
Outcome-Based Education
Displaced Liberal education
Academies gave up Engineering,
Offered Technology.
Research was all geared to
A noble, commercial purpose.
The world became a Workers’ Paradise,
(in Tagore’s idiom).
Exploitation of labour?
Will go on.
No free lunch!
Fundamental Research?
Who cares?
But what about values?
‘Politically correct’ language, please.
No free lunch!
Writers?
Of late busy with contests—of course.
And write only for prize money!
The muses or Sarasvati?
No superstitions, please.
No free lunch!
Sportspersons?
All on the market,
Waiting to be bought off
Or already auctioned.
Can’t help it.
Sponsor-pressure.
No free lunch!
And sporting spirit?
What do you mean?
Current English, please!
No free lunch!
And what about detachment?
Why, are you a Buddha?
A Charlie Chaplin?
A Tithonus?
A Rip Van Winkle or an ET?
Google Postmodernism and Kali Yuga
And find out.
Read rags and update.
Or you’ll be detached.
No free lunch!
Om, shantih, shantih, shantih!
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017
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Ram R. V. Poem
You are my pest-friend,
As you may not know,
And I deem it my pleasure and privilege
To write this panegyric of you.
Mostly chocolate brown in complexion;
And very rarely, if ever, you produce a freakish white.
In your worldwide family,
I don’t think incest is a taboo.
I am no zoologist, neither are you; but pray tell me:
How do you, in your global community, tell a ‘he’ from a ‘she’?!
Your species is indeed ubiquitous:
You can be found in the North, East, West and South.
But it is indeed a pity that you are never there in the NEWS.
When I was in Africa,
I happened to live with your distant cousins,
Very small in size, but very large in number—
With the result that the nuisance value
Was much the same!
You make hardly any distinction
Between fresh and rotten food,
Kitchen and commode, bedroom and bathroom,
And the newest skyscraper and the oldest mansion.
You can also be found on a moving train, on a speeding bus,
Or a flying plane or on board a cruising ship.
No ID proof, no tickets, no Visa!
You can scare any human, male or female, young or old.
You take, of course, a special delight
In frightening women and children:
Some of them scream
And go hysterical at the sight of you or just faint!
Our late-lamented Abdul Kalam,
Was mortally scared of you;
Once, when he was in office,
You made him, if you remember,
Rush out of his suite, ill-clad,
Forgetting his position and protocol!
He was not at all afraid
Of any missiles, though!
You scare us all most when you flutter your wings
Or when you take people unawares,
Showing up in unexpected and unwanted places
And at ungodly hours!
To give the devil its due,
Children often start learning
Their zoology at your expense.
You are etherized or dissected in their laboratory
You are a martyr, in that sense,
To the cause of education—
Like your good friend, Frog.
Now and then you happen to help me, too,
An ESL teacher, to get a feel for the language:
Once, for instance, I was looking up the dictionary
For the meaning of ‘obnoxious.’
I couldn’t quite understand the meaning given;
But just then, as a godsend, you appeared;
And now I understood what the word meant!
Similarly, you readily help me, in the English classroom,
To illustrate the meanings of words—like ‘hysteria,’ ‘phobia,’
‘Scare,’ ‘dare,’ ‘disgusting,’ etc.
Such a help are you to us, teachers.
And perhaps you don’t know that
I have, in fact, half a mind to recommend you
For some prestigious Teacher Award in India.
(For, here in India, you are an Indian by birth or domicile!)
If you have survived against odds,
You should only thank Darwin,
Who is always your support
And source of inspiration.
For you, paradoxically,
Life is long and art is short.
You may, for all I know, outlive my verse:
So long as the universe exists,
Will you continue to exist!
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017
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Ram R. V. Poem
A hot cup of tea greeting me—
first thing in the morning,
wife smiling unconditionally, xo!
hot water on tap, tsh…
neighbour’s doggy popping in to play,
“yap..yap..”
adding to the warmth,
a nice, steaming breakfast,
finishing the punch line of a poem—for a contest
colleagues in the department patting me on my new shirt,
boss on the phone, “good work, so and so!”
overhearing students chattering merrily—about my latest lecture
a brisk round of tick-tock table tennis,
back home for a sumptuous dinner
and chat with the family, “haha, cacka…packa.. he he”
dozing off while reading a book—zzz...
all these things do happen to me or anyone —
but not on the same day!
Actually, there may be water on tap—not hot
Or while petting, the neighbour’s puppy
pisses on your new shirt…etc!
It is after all my notion of a perfect day—a daydream!
***
Winner, Poetry Contest sponsored by Madison Demetros, December 5, 2017.
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017
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Ram R. V. Poem
I like Muslims,
Particularly Yemenis
And Pakistanis (in Yemen)—
With whom, as a university don,
I happened to live for six years.
Arabic vowels render
A Yemeni voice gruff.
So even a greeting would probably
Sound rude to you.
The people are all, like the cat,
Naturally suspicious, cautious,
Until you pass the test (of time).
Then, you are their bosom friend.
If you find a strange parcel in your parlor,
After your Yemeni visitor has left,
Don’t panic: it’s a gift for you.
Beware: If you casually say,
“Your pen is cute,”
Instantly it is yours as a gift!
Talking of meat-eating,
A Yemeni once said:
“We eat what we can
And the animals eat what we can’t!”
At the Rector’s desk,
You may find someone seated,
Picking his tooth.
No, it’s not the Rector, only his messenger;
The Rector might barge in just then
And find a seat somewhere—
Universal brotherhood!
A student (male) would
Shake your hands vigorously,
Go further and pat you on the back!
No offence meant.
Proxemics!
Once a student sat in on my class.
And at the end wanted to
Reward me for my lecture.
All that he could find at the moment
Was a tissue, which he offered in all humility,
He said: I should pay for what I’ve learnt.
I cherish the reward!
If they repeatedly try to proselytize you,
It is in your own interests,
So that you will go to Heaven,
Which you would otherwise miss!
Once a Yemeni colleague of mine
Put it to me quite seriously:
“Just say a word, Professor,
And you become a Muslim instantly;
Are free to marry into my family;
May take my sister’s hand.”
“But I’m married,” flustered I.
“So what?” was his cool response!
Your students may bring for you
Home-made dishes,
Without your knowledge or consent.
Wallah, you shall have it!
Once a student presented to me
A pencil-sketch, by her, of me
With a nota bene:
2B or not 2B?
“I am your old student,
Teacher, not that old!
You learnt (sic) me Shakespeare.”
She only means:
You taught me Shakespeare.
Taelim is the Arabic word for
Both ‘teach’ and ‘learn.’
Today there is chaos in the land.
Al-?amdu lillah
A word on our Pakistani brethren in Yemen.
Outside their own soil,
Both Indians and Pakistanis
Would be thick as thieves:
Play friendly cricket matches
And you’d invariably find
An Indian bowler or batsman on the Pakistani team
And vice versa—to make up for a shortfall!
So, I like Muslims.
— Ram, R. V.
Winner, Premiere Poetry Contest, sponsored by Kai Michael Newmann, July 30, 2017
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017
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Ram R. V. Poem
“Writing [maketh] an exact Man,”
claims Francis Bacon.
Macaulay’s Minutes is our bible.
Derrida emphasizes
the Primacy of Writing.
Freedom to write is also guaranteed—
by our Indian Constitution!
So, our children at school do write a lot—
in the classroom,
as part of their homework,
as assignments;
write a lot of tests:
their test of spoken language, too,
is a written test!
Isn’t it hard work?
Yes, but that’s the price they must pay—
For the freedom NOT to think!
***
Composed on November 16, 2017.
Winner I, Photostory Contest, sponsored by Eve Roper, December 2, 2017.
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017
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Ram R. V. Poem
Our family’s visit to an ashram—
Where parasitical monkeys haunt ’n hum.
Creatures known for tricks and hanky-panky.
So tussles ’tween visitor and monkey!
Monkeys win— tussles with woman or man.
Outwitting the monkey whoever can?
So woes of the devotees are many;
There doesn’t seem to be solution any!
A li’l one came to us ’nd held her hand out;
With a bottle of water, turned about;
Came back again straight to my son swiftly
Only to look for lice ’n his hair deftly!
A surprising gesture of gratitude.
We appreciated her attitude!
***
Composed on October 18, 2017
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017
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Ram R. V. Poem
Hullo, folks!
Do you hear me?
You didn’t hear me when I was dying.
At least hear me now, when I’m dead and buried.
I am, as you know, Jinesh,
Buried here—in this churchyard at Poonthura,
Buried on Sunday—
Like Solomon Grundy!
I did hear you when you were crying—
During the recent floods,
Rushed to your help,
Saved more than a hundred of you.
You all praised me, called me a hero,
Lined the street I lived in
With posters, flex boards, banners and whatnot.
Now you all know that I, as a pillion rider,
Was hit by a passing truck,
Which further ran over my helping hands,
Crushing them—
Thus, adding grievous injury to injury!
I lay there on the roadside,
Crying aloud for help,
Which fell on your deaf years:
You were all busy, all in a nervous hurry—
Off to Timbuktu!
I wept and cried for help, by turns.
But I was left there to die unwept and unsung,
Though I had been honoured.
Now you all may say: RIP
But, you see, I remain restless!
***
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2018
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Ram R. V. Poem
Maybe God wanted to paint
this charming creature white;
but when about to finish,
ran out of paint;
And the result—a pied beauty!
***
Winner (5th Place), Picture Prompt Contest, sponsored by Julie Rodeheaver,
November 8, 2017.
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017
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Ram R. V. Poem
Wouldn’t meddle in Math
For I fear and respect her.
But love her figure!
— Ram, R. V.
Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017
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