The Fever Bird

A poet of repute writes about love. He mentions how he wakes up disturbed to the cries of the papiha in his garden, in the dead of the night. The lunatic bird sings in the midnight heat, without relief. Like a bone of pain is stuck in its throat. And our poet doesn't know sleep. He feels that the papiha is conspiring only against him, because there is no one else in the house awake. He looks out of his room, and can't trace the hidden bird. Its throttling cries split his heart apart. Those cries of pee-kahan, pee-kahan. Where is my love, where is my love. The poet christens this emotion as love. And tries to make me believe so.

Yet again, I have been lied to. Call me a man for having said this. But love is an extended mating-ritual. It's like fore-foreplay. At least this once, men are right. It's a terrible facade that love puts on, it cheats you for half a life. It's all about chemicals gone crazy in your brain. Some hormones out stepping their fucking limits. The same ones that ensure you get hair under your arms. That's about it. It's animal instinct. All that we suppose sets man apart from animals has been doctored to fill in books, to make people fantasize. And make this hunt for an okayish mate, a pink one after all. That's about it.

I saw a blind man and a blind woman. I don't know if I could impose our jargons on them. But they would have been objectionable had they not been blind. It was a public place, there were scores of people, like me, like you, who would but ogle at people who make out in public. But I couldn't find a term for them. I couldn't force any thought on what I saw. No one else was watching, so I could just stare on. Like an almost involved by stander. The woman was taking the man's hand and running it across her face, above her eyes, with almost all white and the squinted black, the dark circles around her eyes, her nose, the slightly hollow cheeks, and then his hands paused for a short breathtaking moment on her mouth, fingered gradually from the upper lip to the lower, like a beat of music. Then down to her chin and below her neck. There was a smile on the man's face. It was a like a mad man's. He must have been happy. So must have been the woman. Now I wonder, was that about it?

Poet in reference: Vikram Seth

27 comments:

Surya Prakash V said...

I was in love, once; if what I experienced was not love, then there is nothing called love. If it is love, then it brought nothing worthwhile in return except a feeling of being used and abused. That was worthwhile for I see the germs of what I am now in it, and I wouldn't trade that for heaven.

Now i am inclined to think that it's just the desire and the desire to be desired.

But then how does that explain years of suffering I experienced?

The best way to end a love story is to allow one to be given to the other; that way, we glimpse of the benevolent universe; but the neurotic mind keeps winding itself to spring another surprise; we seek tragedy of conventions as against the glory of life!

Not that now I care for any of it anymore.

With love, like desire; it is both there and it isn't; holding on is the key; like letting go; contradictions really don't exist!

विवेक Call me Vish !! said...

very touchable...post!!I saw a blind man and a blind woman. I don't know if I could impose our jargons on them. But they would have been objectionable had they not been blind. It was a public place, there were scores of people, like me, like you, who would but ogle at people who make out in public. But I couldn't find a term for them. I couldn't force any thought on what I saw. No one else was watching, so I could just stare on. Like an almost involved by stander. The woman was taking the man's hand and running it across her face, above her eyes, with almost all white and the squinted black, the dark circles around her eyes, her nose, the slightly hollow cheeks, and then his hands paused for a short breathtaking moment on her mouth, fingered gradually from the upper lip to the lower, like a beat of music. Then down to her chin and below her neck...........very touchy !!

Surya Prakash V said...

Lol Vish!

Finally, coming of age, you were touched by blind love (does love have a gender?) ; I hope it touched you at the right place; below the neck; the heart that is ;)

Surya Prakash V said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Surya Prakash V said...

The space between two words is a sentence; A chasm where I breath everything I wanted to write;

An ode, my Taj mahal, of dead words to beautify the dead memories of a dead lover; to the blind love(r) of this desirable world.

Blasphemous Aesthete said...

I think, no. I believe, it was the spectacle, of what we have heard only in stories, or haven't seen too often. It's love, that wine that refines with age. Gets more tender, more warmer and tastes better, for the lovers.

The Sage said...

flo... this shows you are growing up, my child...

love is an extended pre-mating ritual... agreed. so what? if it is good while it lasts, what is the problem with it?

wildflower said...

V
wow! Pretty impressive an opinion there, I respect the patience with which you have cultivated it. My views might seem harsh, but what can we do, what can we do.

Vish
Dude! Please stop commenting, I mean it's alright!

wildflower said...

Blasphemous Aesthete
Or worse, it's just something that sells. And that makes it so cheap, almost beneath contempt.

Rishi
What about the aftermath. What about the aftermath.

The Sage said...

if tomorrow we are going to die, should we stop breathing today??

wildflower said...

Does it make a difference, when death sneaks in stealthily? Today, tomorrow, or the day after!

The Sage said...

stopping breathing prematurely will be welcoming death and putting on festoons in its anticipation!!

Surya Prakash V said...

Sage; do you act on what you feel? or what you think? can you seperate them?

Did you ever notice the point where feelings descend to whims? what is the result there?

What if all analogies are parodies of what actually is?

Life is simple you know.

The Sage said...

@ Surya Prakash
exactly my point... life is simple... if you just act, without trying to rationalise whether it is on thoughts or feelings or reason that you act, half the demons within would be exorcised intantly!!

Surya Prakash V said...

I know what you mean. The only problem would be you would have to completely eliminate correctness of action.

It is necessary in relation to others; and redundant with respect to self.

You can suspend thought and indulge in feeling on all certainties; otherwise, one is flirting with suffering.

What are your certainties?

Wi ; does this space belong only to you in your mind?

The Sage said...

if your premises are sound, then there would be no contradictions (thought borrowed from ayn rand)

what is right and what is wrong... is right and wrong not relative? i might find nothing wrong in securing a railway berth for myself by greasing the palm of the TT, but to you it may be symptomatic if a wider malaise... or to give a more hard and fast example, till 500 years back people used to think that earth is the center of the universe, but today such a notion is laughed at...

what i am driving at is that there are no absolutes... if you are convinced that what you are doing is right, then neither your thought nor your feelings will tell you to do it... you will just do it without thinking or feeling...

sandeep said...

You can't talk of ayn rand and also relativism in the same breath. Neither can you talk of lack of absolutes.

Either ways I am not talking morality here; as much as stepping on the toes.

If you know the right action and do it without feeling then you are thinking guy; knowing is never devoid if thinking; you might argue that "right" is not my concern, which is fine, but it is highly unlikely that you have no standards at all; even if that were true the next question would be where do I draw my line.

Like I said, one can never go wrong with self; one either learns or has fun. But introduce the "other" into the framework and everything collapses; so you cannot talk of love and independent action in the same frame of thought; love is finished in action.

Surya Prakash V said...

Apologies; I had not realized my friend was logged into my iPhone when I posted the last comment.

It belongs to me, is for sage.

Surya Prakash V said...

The existential bliss cannot be devoid of the notion of evil; for in it one expresses the most intimate knowledge of what one is told he likes; without ever finding the root of all causes.

Wild-flower: a shut up would do if this space belongs to you.

wildflower said...

Guys Guys Guys!
Call it off now. Enough has been said already. V, thanks for lengthening Rishi's comments. And Rishi, thanks for shortening V's :)

Surya Prakash V said...

Noooooo! We are not even speaking the same language; yet. But another day :)

The Sage said...

come on flo... there is an interesting discussion after ages... would love to chat and/or talk on and on with SPV... i have an OCD for discussions...

The Sage said...

Surya Prakash
why can i not try and look for the middle path? and even if it is not the middle path, why should i not be at a liberty to follow my path... so long as it is not hurting anyone, anywhere...

Surya Prakash V said...

Sage; get ur ass on gmail; surya.prakashv

Let's not litter m'lady's garden of love ;)

Ps - there is no possibility that you won't hurt anyone; between you and the world one is always burning; the question is always "to what extent; what is right"

wildflower said...

Do mail me your chats; durgeshnandini87! ;)

Raj said...

But love is an extended mating-ritual. lovely line. there is a better one, my personal favorite.

love is a state of perpetual ansthesia where a man/woman seems like a god/goddess.

its incomplete. i dont remember the whole thing. but all the very same, its nothing and its everything.

hopelessly flawed said...

I have lately realized if only art would stop marketing love to me and making it not what it really is...i feel lied to and cheated when it comes down to the idea of love they brought me up with.

your post is art coming around, and telling me the painful truth...but now I've
lost the ability to believe in anything anymore.