The Temple

There is a temple down the road from where I live, 1 left and 2 rights. Every Friday I make my tiny pilgrimage To it's equally tiny containment of solace. My mother sends me to feed the cows, But I stay through the evening I do not know why. An island in the violent waters of the urban suburb. A protector of our "Samskrutum"; a social herb. I am pulled by this vortex in my life's turbulence; By the familiar faces of friendly foreign figures Actors without transcripts in the life that is mine. In this serenity, my mind wanders seeking serendipity, Wishing for answers to open questions Unanswered as always in some metaphysical FAQ. Still I search, waiting for a reply I am due, "Why do I love this temple so much What gives it it's special touch?" It begins. Simple questions always raise complex ones, This is not Tirupati, Devotee fanfare is not it's birthright, Yet, something in it's infancy is a pleasing sight The calm, peaceful casualness comes fresh Nothing like the spirituality I had come to know Like many my age, brought up in the ways of science I hold little value to words of meta-science. The rituals, preaching teachings, seem irrelevant in this day and age. Ramblings of some long lost sage. Words eroded away by the ruthless agents of change. That they should hold eternally true seems strange. I have never understood the darshan, The pushing struggle to glimpse but an unnecessary manifestation, To which they attach spiritual value, and many fold adoration, More, much more than the gold by which it is adorned. It is not my deity, not that which I hold in my mind, Unseen, shapeless, abstract. While in the religious godhead I do not believe, In our religion I do. Our art. Our language and our literature. Our values and our virtues. Our. The word stings me. What right have I, so ignorant, Not even knowing my mother tongue, nor the rituals and shlokas of an Ancestry I was born into. I may not have a say in the matter, But that does not mean I can not choose it. Not for the first time, an ethereal realization dawns, I love this temple because it gives me a chance. A casual environment too subtle to rub against my insecurities A window into my inheritance. A hope of understanding. I wrote this on the train on the way back to college, though many of the ideas that brought it out happened in-situ. My initial plan was to sit there (it’s a really nice place to sit and ponder), but due to lack of time, I did it instead in a horribly cramped position in the train, through the wee hours of the night where conformational problems would inhibit any possibility of sleep anyways, making me look quite the travelling bard. Since then, I have merely added some corrections to the language, and made it more consumable. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the topic (Ok, honestly I’d just like someone to confirm that I’m not alone in these thoughts, and secondly I’d like to see some damn comment in my inbox that isn’t spam). ...

January 9, 2009 · 3 min · 534 words · Arun Tejasvi Chaganty

Since I've Bean Loving You

Once when the heart did flutter, Every moment passing only to draw us closer To glance upon you, my thoughts stuttered, To breath you in, so refreshing, yet so dear. As you moved through me, a warmth filled my chest I was at your every beck and call I swore I would withstand the test A test of loss. I failed, and now I fall. A craving left unsatisfied You have moved forward, without heed to my growing addiction, Without heed to the feelings of this body of but flesh and bone, My sensous brown coffee bean. Try as I might, I can’t kick the coffee habit. ...

October 21, 2008 · 1 min · 107 words · Arun Tejasvi Chaganty

Blackout

Dedicated to Kavitha, who has kept on poking me to write a non-technical post. Perched at queer angle upon your faithful chair. Working away through the wee hours of the night. Pumped by the loud stereo music, air guitaring as you see fit. Taking the lights and sounds for granted. Blackout. You hear the faint pitter-patter of the rain. The hurr of the machine world fades away. Sounds taken for granted, the background buzz of your life. The lonely night greets you to partake in its silence. ...

July 14, 2008 · 2 min · 229 words · Arun Tejasvi Chaganty

Passion Flame, A Rant

I’m posting a poem I wrote last summer (before I had come to IIT). To set the story, I was majaarly pissed off by the coaching centre mentality. I had been madly in love with physics (though we’ve broken up, we still remain friends), and a year and a half later, my passion was just sapped away. With the exam over, I decided to generally start writing again, so I started with this. As you will soon see, I have abused the language in nearly every way possible, just to play with it. Most poems I have written till date have been of a melancholy tone. I wanted to try something new and that’s the explanation for the sudden shift in tone in the last few stanzas. It is pretty long, and I hope I don’t bore you with it. ...

March 8, 2008 · 4 min · 835 words · Arun Tejasvi Chaganty