Zodiac

Zodiac Deepa Kylasam Iyer The Author Deepa Kylasam Iyer studied in National Law School of India University, Bangalore and Gonville & Caius College, University of Cambridge as a Cambridge Trust-Commonwealth Shared Scholar. Her first book of poetry Turning Thirty & Other Poems was published by AuthorsPress, New Delhi in 2016. Her poetry and short stories were previously featured in Indian Literature, Vayavya, Word Riot, Cyclamens & Swords, Muse India, Auto Didact, Reading Hour, and in four anthologies Inspired by Museum (British Council 2015), Inspired by Tagore (British Council 2012), Voices Israel (2012) and Ars et Mundus (Cambridge 2018). Her play Metaphor was longlisted for the Hindu MetroPlus Playwright Award 2012 and Toto Funds the Arts Prize 2013. Deepa is currently Alumni Advisor, Commonwealth Scholarship Commission, United Kingdom. 1 Zodiac Deepa Kylasam Iyer Dedication In memory of Shamnad Basheer (1976-2019) teacher, philosopher, flâneur whose courage and compassion changed lives around him 2 Zodiac Deepa Kylasam Iyer Acknowledgement “Zodiac”, St Edmunds Arts Festival: Ars Et Mundus Anthology, University of Cambridge, May 2018. The poems “Zodiac” and “Break up”, were recited at the St Edmunds Arts Festival, University of Cambridge, May 2018. The poems “Matrimonial Advertisement”, “Old Haunts”, “Improvise”, and “The English Garden” were recited at the Christmas Poetry Recital, Graduate Union, University of Cambridge, December 2017. 3 Zodiac Deepa Kylasam Iyer Preface The word ‘zodiac’ comes from a word in ancient Greek that means a ‘circle of animals’. By wanting to name this book ‘Zodiac’, I originally meant the menagerie of animals. As I began writing, I realized that I could not avoid the portent of star signs. The result is this book about the space-time of a year through the four seasons and all zodiac signs, about love and loss, and the memory of love and loss. Incidentally, this book is also about animals as themselves, and as metaphor for other beings. If you have read my first book of poetry ‘Turning Thirty & Other Poems’ (AuthorsPress, New Delhi, 2016) you would know that my poems are rooted in places as much as in people. So is this second book. The poems are situated in Cambridge, Windsor, London, Pondicherry and Kerala. Sometimes, there are indeterminate places from memory that suspiciously resemble these places I have listed. During the year in England I spent as a Cambridge Trust-Commonwealth shared scholar, Gonville & Caius College, the fourth oldest of Cambridge colleges, was my home. I was thrilled that my college was the wand that chose me- the same Caius of Watson, Crick, and Stephen Hawking, the home of sublime choir and chamber music, and the college of incomparable pranksters and practical jokers! During my delightful year at Caius, I took part in the annual telephone campaign for fundraising by which the current students had an opportunity to call up the alumni. This wonderful opportunity earned me friends and fellowship in the college across generations. James Dowell of the development office, who led the telephone campaign, was encouraging and supportive both of my effort at fundraising and at poetry. The pastoral support I received at Caius helped me have an exciting time at Cambridge which led to a lot of writing. As far this book is concerned, Caius in many ways, is my partner in crime. I also had two brief and beautiful stints at the Cumberland Lodge Windsor, on fellowships generously awarded by the Commonwealth Commission. I stayed on the vast grounds of the Windsor Park with a great group of fellow scholars, and the elms, oaks and deer. My heartfelt gratitude is due to the incredible ground staff at the Lodge. The long march, the parish and the bronze statues of Windsor too inspired poetry. Cambridge also gifted me with some terrific, creative individuals for friends. For the warmth and encouragement for all my enterprises, and for your generous big heart, thank you Thomas Buchon. For opening my horizons to some incomparable books, thinkers and authors, thank you to the brilliant belles, Camila Franco-Restrepo and Olivia Chapman. For taking to me like family and never saying no to my plans, for being my untiring guide to Cambridge, my love to you, Adhvik Shetty. Through your beautiful thoughts, verses and incisive reflection, you continue to inspire me to read and write well, Rupsa Banerjee. For the gift of calligraphy, thank 4 Zodiac Deepa Kylasam Iyer you Nadia. For some unforgettable music, wit and wisdom, I will always rely on you, Benjamin Pearce-Higgins. For the unwavering faith through the years and your silent sacrifices, I will always owe you, Francis Kuriakose. Thank you for watching out for me, and for your honesty. Every piece of work passes through the great filter that your mind is, and is the better for it. My garden has sustained me more than I would care to admit anywhere else. Thank you for sharing your life and families with me even though I am just human. It is comforting to meet you and your family every day, Lone (the common Indian myna). I cannot have enough of your scurry - Eric, Erica, Dan, Bert and Ernie (Indian palm squirrels). I know you watchfully guard over me, Mike and Ben (gecko). I do worry if I don’t see you enough - red vented bulbuls, brahminy starlings, sparrows, oriental magpie-robins, tailorbirds and swallows. You will always be there with me Bruno (labrador retriever). This book is dedicated to a generous teacher, brilliant philosopher and creative genius, Shamnad Basheer. I was his student inside the classroom for a brief period, but outside of it longer. I know only a little of intellectual property law that was his wand and weapon. As a lawyer, he used his abilities inside the courtroom to fight for rights of all kinds, and helped generations access life-saving drugs to life-saving education. Outside the courtroom, he wandered like a nomad pondering where creativity, that we very much try to bottle through the spell of intellectual property, came from. Like the breath of life and all good things in this universe, your absence constantly reminds us of our impoverishment. This universe of poetry ‘Zodiac’ is for you, dear professor! 5 Zodiac Deepa Kylasam Iyer Zodiac [To Francis Kuriakose] Each of the million stars Is to precisely know The incremental degree Of proximity To grow into the galaxy And belong. Each unmelted glacier Will show The invisible heat That unsettles Mountains of snow Into weeping rivers And song. 6 Zodiac Deepa Kylasam Iyer Fishbowl [To Rupsa Banerjee] This English winter in your backyard, Yawning, forever sprouting grey, Is an ageing metaphor. You dream yourself A golden morning Dipping into Calcutta days, Rationalise reams of love poetry Into questions with plausible Answers for English ears. But the vague fish simmers in mustard oil, a cat fed on dumplings, or was it love? When the cold mountains dipped in fiery plains, rapidly churns orange, yellow green, one bottomless rainbow, appears like a miracle on some Indian day. When mother talks To father about hushed Failings and the cat now Out of the bag, ambles Along the living room Ceiling, World turns Upside down, draining Colours, sapping the Last of sun and Leaves you with Cambridge yawning. 7 Zodiac Deepa Kylasam Iyer Starling The starling has found love, And ever since guards her like a Dragon, like any other lone myna. He watches over her, Pecking at bread crumbs and lovers, Every lilt of the bougainvillea An ominous warning. His ongoing entreaties beg her To remain watchful, And come home. She eats leisurely, Assured that love watches over Like a red-eyed hawk, Ready to blitz any winged shadow And tear it apart. She flies to him. In a moment, they are one bird Beak to beak, feather to white Wingtip, one big pandemonium Of muffled singing. Then the wind croons. Waltzing apart, He and she tango and dart Like blinding love into the wind, falling and rising, One frenzied feeling. 8 Zodiac Deepa Kylasam Iyer Miso [To Rukmini Kakoty] You find it heavy to lift Lifeless arguments meandering Through dying sentences. You plough labouriously, Not for words, But for spaces between them. Anything silent and spacious, Even mirrors that talk to you In whispers. The blue mountains Hum old folk-tunes You keep burying. Yet you find not Tedious to shift two lives A thousand miles down the Brahmaputra. Maybe it is the silent light Of his phosphorescent eyes, The hundred trees crashing in his quiet purr, And a giant swathe of universe He licks and polishes to unearth Rare gifts to give you. Maybe it is that quiet hunting And a love for worlds Yet to be built He leans on to you. 9