A NIGHT OF PALMISTRY
THIRTHANKAR C.
Copyright © 2012 by Thirthankar C.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, or the facilitation thereof, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author or publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Any members of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or publishers who would like to obtain permission to include the work in an anthology, should write to thirthankarc@gmail.com.
First published and printed in Pondicherry, India.
To Munnu –
Voluntary memory is of no value as an instrument of evocation, and provides an image as far removed from the real as the myth of our imagination or the caricature furnished by direct perception.
Samuel Beckett, Proust.
I
Unlike Lord Byron, I don’t seek for one
Single star to run my poem through,
Instead, I’ll extemporize and loll in fun
With whatsoe’er that comes, I have no clue,
Until, fatigued and bored, I feel quite done,
And my short aim is quenched with verses few;
A pattern, certes, Byron had in mind
While with Beppo and Juan his rima he twined.
II
One theme for long I’ve had in mind to rhyme,
A night of dinner, revelry and drinks,
When a friend of mine, in manhood prime,
Read our palms amidst our countless winks,
Bearing solemn face and voice sublime
And rolling deep dark eyes, with occasional blinks,
While the rest of us, we were six in all,
Rolled in mirth and cheered his Indian drawl.
III
The first in line, sat a girl divine,
Sable haired and figure, oh, so svelte,
With cosmetic-free coral lips like wine
That with a kiss the hardest hearts could melt.
Woe is me, if only she were mine!
(But then in ugliness my lines would’ve dwelt
For as the old bard’s sonnet goes,
Love turns the prettiest of doves to ugly crows…)
IV
But since (thank god) this lady I’ve not won,
Nor mean to chain her (still virgin) in this line,
My previous stanza can be left undone
While I proceed without a further whine:
So she lent her hand, as tender as of nun,
With crinkles fine of exquisite design,
But halt! Afore the lady doth protest
Too much of words defiling her with zest.
V
For, I recall from my adolescence,
I loved this girl both witty and charming,
I penned her poesy packed with passions dense,
And raised her an altar with her pleasingly prancing;
Before the idol decamped, leaving her essence
Standing on the plinth befuddled and blinking,
Wondering who the devil might have hatched her there
And adorned her beauty instead of tasting it bare.
VI
But then recent times have proved my verse wrong
What with the prince marrying Ms. Middleton,
Mid the cheers and clamours of a lunatic throng;
Though in lunacy none could beat the late simpleton
Who, instead of strutting about in a skimpy thong,
Capped a tiara of diamonds and ruined all the fun
Of a liberal life free from all Papparazzi clips
Desperate to capture the now Duchess and her royal
hips.
VII
A night of palmistry was what I named these rhymes:
I do not think I strayed from my initial intent,
For as my palmist would say, even in recent times
Based on our palm lines our lives are spent –
For amongst us all fate’s relentless knell chimes,
Be it lover or queen or the archbishop of Kent.
Just as I as a rhymester am bound to this doggerel
Formed by these chaotic words I tethered pell-mell.
VIII
On looking at her hand, whose name I’ll betray not,
Our palmist, whom I’ll call Gyani to serve my verse,
Exclaimed, “O my, o dear, I say, what what!
This here dark furrow, all crooked and terse
Tells me you’ll never let your money waste and rot
But forever preserve a plentiful purse.”
(For also a poet, Gyani spoke in polished phrases
His poesy, even today, the English audience amazes.)
IX
“But dear me! What do these small dots say here,
Beside these unmistakable crisscross designs?
It grieves me to say you’ve many enemies I fear,
Although I do discern some favourable signs
That nonetheless profess you have friends sincere
Who will forever favour you with acts benign.
But beware nonetheless of affected smiles
That mesh your mind, which then the heart beguiles.”
X
Just then the pretty maid made a gesture of doubt
And remarked, “But sir, that’s just what you read
From my friend’s hands yesterday while mapping out
Her future career and erotic life in bed.
Don’t tell me that similarly my life is all about
Ganders and goats and giving hubbies head!
For I’d rather not put myself to shame before friends…”
(But from here on our thoughts took different bends.)
XI
“But yaar!” retorted Gyani with conviction great,
“It’s like that only yaar, these are lines decreed
Out of Brahma’s brows from the heavens straight
Come down to us mortals and ignorant breed.
I never speak gibberish nor redundantly prate
But utter genuine truths that providentially lead
To the unfolding of karmic laws sempiternal,
Without the garam masala found in teenage journal.
XII
“Ah, and now I see you’ve supporting lines numerous…”
“Does that mean she’ll never die?” another asked.
“No, she’ll have many a foreigner friend and plus
She will not remain amongst her native caste.
And further down, if you followed this line thus,
As I read it, Miss, you’ve had a disquieting past?
For these zigzags beneath reveal anxious affairs
With lost love, and I say, what! Muscular mares?
XIII
“But then, it’s not impossible this cryptic sign,
For Vedic munis called ashwins bringers of light;
Hence, this singularly enigmatic line
Could signify spiritual salvation alright,
No matter how erotic its intricate design:
Perhaps your old man will be a saintly sprite
In the guise of a horny young poet at best…”
(But I blush too much to write the rest…)
XIV
“But tush tash, here’s another Delphic mark,
Spearing right through your life line, I see…”
“Now, she’ll die young?” ensued a further remark,
Ignoring the imbecile, Gyani, with cordial esprit
Said, “Hmm… you’ve also a lengthy scholastic arc
You must apply for a fellowship ASAP,
Before the internship you planned the other day,
Else these lines will futilely fade away!”
XV
“More years of grueling through excel pages?
More hours with pen, paper and exam sheet?
Impairing my eyes and crippling prime ages?
Attending dull lectures with boils in my seat?
To suffer and toil deprived of least wages?
To tolerate teachers as they tirelessly tweet?
Hah!” thought the damsel within a split sec,
And stoutly declared, “I’d rather go trek!”
XVI
But back to Gyani, our seer, who shaking his head,
Further announced, “Talking of trekking,
Your travel line’s not rooted to your Mumbai bed,
Be it swimming, sailing, sky-diving, or skiing,
You’ll go gallivanting gorgeous grounds instead:
From Alpian acmes to backstreet Beijing,
You’ll wander through every nook and cranny
Even when you hobble as a doddering nanny!
XVII
“And this reminds me of this recent chappie
Who came to me before his IELTS test
Having received an offer from Durham University,
Highly excited and abounding with zest –
But yaar, despite him being all happy,
I professed his travel line to be teeny at best…”
“So you spooked him into flunking his IELTS??”
“No da! His VISA application ended in a mess.”
XVIII
Reassured of these remarks, the damsel enquired,
“Baba Gyani, a sage once told me my love line’s nil?”
“What plain sham this phony soothsayer blathered!
He evidently fibbed flapdoodles to fit his bill!”
Vociferated Gyani, his face all red and flustered,
“I’d give him a tight wallop if he were around still!
For at least two lines betoken liaisons of intimacy:
The latter being either arranged or formed in secrecy.”
XIX
“However, what I am somewhat uncertain of is
Whether the first line, showing a past amour,
Depicts a breaking of your heart or his:
Were you the victim or the paramour?
(Mate, could you pass me that apple fizz?)
Either ways you were left wanting for more,
And I don’t foresee too great a time span
Between now and the coming of your new man.”
XX
“New man? Codswallop! Are you sure of this?”
Asked the young maid with furrowed brows.
“Do not question Baba Gyani, ignorant miss,
Seers answer not the why’s and the how’s,
But know of futures and pasts gone amiss
Lavished with blessings from the sacred cows
Identified with the mama of the gods herself
Aditi, “The Boundless” (as cited in the reference shelf).”
XXI
“Over the years, I’ve gleaned countless contentions,”
This the damsel speaks, not Gyani anymore,
“On love marriages and those arranged by guardians:
Like in Plato’s The Republic and Utopia by More,
Where weddings are gauged as communal functions
In contrast to Byronic flings with nymphs galore…
But what stuns me is why would anyone mingle
Their soul with another’s instead of staying single?”
XXII
“For the extension of species, da!” was Gyani’s riposte,
“To erase that everlasting erection of
The futile desire to reach stars at all cost
And worship a dream idol and lift it above
Common sense, which chaotic quotes exhaust;
Instead marriage’s to consummate virgin love:
And thus stop that bloated organ from feeling
Fruitlessly swollen and thus painfully aching.”
XXIII
(That last organ is the heart, to clear all doubts
Before Gyani is censored by ethical laws.)
“A wedding is well worth to ward off family scouts,
Whose maws emit miasmic moralistic caws:
‘Maiden plus bloke equals whores and louts,’
Probably inspired by the two biblical saws:
‘Thou shalt not commit adultery,’ and the tenth’s a farce,
‘Nor covet thy neighbour’s manservant, ox, or arse.’
XXIV
Forgive the British brogue in Gyani’s last phrase,
If not my sustained rima would’ve run amiss;
I was forced to crop it a bit in a bout of laze
To better suit the case of our dear sprightly miss.
Withal, if scriptures were not burnt ablaze,
Evolution would’ve plunged to infernal abyss…
Then imagine what loss it would be to humanity:
My precious stanza sacrificed to religious insanity!
XXV
“Your palm shows marriage consumed in passion,”
Said Gyani, “That’s more than a maiden could ask
For marriage, despite now growing out of fashion,
Does many a sublime feeling unmask,
Leading to resigned and affected compassion
That does solely in neighbours’ scrutiny bask.
Unless marriage is conquered like any other rule
And you play the mistress and not the damn fool.
XXVI
“What’s more yaar, I see two cherubs yet to come
Girls they seem from these lines hither…”
“Why Gyani, don’t they look more like some
Spooky centipedes or snakes that slither?”
“Shut up! But the curves do make ‘em look dumb,
Although the linear line running thither
Could save them from being utter pigeon heads:
Yes, you must never wed Sardar purebreds!
XXVII
“So let not this haste you to your matrimony,
Specially not if an engineer from Punjab
Approached you with his wealthy patrimony
And lured you with robots of many a knob.
Rather you should wait for the Easter Bunny
To gift you true love wrapped as a slob:
A thoroughbred Bong, that’s my final verdict
And this for now yaar is all I can predict.”
XXVIII
At this point all heads turned towards me:
(No, dear reader, it’s not because I’m Bong…
I mean, I am Bong, but… o dear, let this be…)
I was subject to be next in line for this song
Where Gyani, with his knowledge of palmistry,
Pronounced prophecies that never went wrong.
The merry company urged me to lend Gyani my hand,
Which someday in a second canto I might expand.
~ THE END ~
(well, at least for the moment...)
(well, at least for the moment...)
