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The gift to create form, from the mist of imagination, is pure magic!


Showing posts with label introspection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label introspection. Show all posts

Friday, July 26, 2024

Firdaus

 





20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

“Agar firdaus bar roo-e zameen ast,
Hameen ast-o hameen ast-o hameen ast.” - Amir Khusrau


My paradise is lost. Was it mine, to begin with? If it was mine, was it paradise?

It was a safe haven for me - Not just a piece of land, not just a garden and an abode I called home,

To make sense of where I belonged. It was my solace, my peace of mind where I carefully hoarded

The fragmented pieces of my mind.

Where the wind blew melodies of the forest and the seas and the lullabies of the starry nights,

Songs that breathed my existence and gave me the reason to call everything mine!

It was the fountain of mirth where the tears of joy sparkled.

It was the cave of sorrow where shadows dried my tears.

A nest that cradled my life calming all my fears, feeding me, clothing me, satiating all my desires…

Then I lost it all!

So violently torn, so bitingly violated that I questioned the verity of my memories.

To become a tumble weed in the desert, a paper boat in the flood, a lump of meat in the feast,

A compass without North!

The beasts come in hoards to eat the leftovers, stripping the meat from the bones,

To gorge on what scraps are left of my humanity in an arena full of spectators who debate;

Shall it be a thumbs up or a thumbs down?

And yet I want to live, I want my love to live, I want my hope to live, I want my tribe to live,

I want to live to find my paradise one more time!

I want to live for our songs of paradise to stay alive.


Tuesday, April 30, 2024

Propaganda

 







30x20 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I look perfectly charismatic
While my innards are swarming with worms
Festering from corruption and bile,
An immaculate Dorian Gray in the vilest norms!

I can conjure up godly avatars
While orchestrating the most demonic of deeds
Knowing, you shall find me innocent
Disregarding what your faculty of reason heeds!

I will stalk you like a predator
While promising you the world of your dream,
Bending the rules to trap the prey
Leaving you crumbs and stealing all the cream!

I can gradually poison your being
While you thank me for being the saintly messiah!
You will imagine you have free will
As I turn you into slavish mobs taming the pariah!

I will rape and plunder with my power
While you stay drugged with hatred and deceit,
No victim shall receive justice or closure
But in turn will be deemed guilty by moral conceit!

I am quite a scoundrel, I know
While you remain confident of my holy character!
Why else try to control public opinion
If not to lead, unchecked, my fattened lambs to slaughter?

Friday, November 17, 2023

Tara

 







20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Tara

In the beginning there was void. All pervading darkness and endless nothingness. Yet she was there. She was the void and once awakened she created the entire universe out of her non being. Created life and death, and everything in between. The ‘Samsara’ she manifested out of ‘Maya’ is like a vast sea of the unknown and she was the only guide who could help us to traverse that sea without getting lost and drowning. She is the peril and she is the saviour. She is the void and she is the ‘Tara’ (Star) of light in that void; the duality which is intrinsic to nature.

In Sanskrit, ‘Star’ and ‘crossing’ are the most obvious meanings of the name ‘Tara’. By extension, the name Tara signifies she who guides or carries others across, who navigates others across, and she who protects, rescues, and liberates. Hence Tara’s role as a Devi imbues her with powers of compassion, protection from danger and providing enlightenment. In Tibet, Tara is referred to as ‘Dolma’ meaning saviour.

Tara’s connection to the sea is more strengthened through her inclusion in Hindu theology as a patron of the seas. The Puranas describe her as related to water bodies. This ‘Sea’ may be a very literal interpretation of the much deeper spiritual symbolism of Tara. If this ‘Samsara’ is the endless unknown sea and if each one of us are vessels embarking on a voyage to traverse that sea from our birth to death, we need a compass or a pole star to guide us on that journey. Tara is that pole star who keeps us on track if we trust her wisdom and learn the lessons we need to learn. She slashes through our thick cloud of ignorance and ego with her light of wisdom and saves us from ourselves. The lotus she holds (mostly a blue lotus as seen in her popular iconography) is a symbol of purity, remaining unsoiled in even the most polluting of environments and acts as a constant reminder to us that enlightenment can exist in the world even if the environment is corrupt and polluted.  

Tara is glorified as the 2nd fierce manifestation of Sati, just after Kali, as a Dasa Mahavidya (Ten cosmic wisdoms) in Hindu mythology but Tara’s origins can be traced to ancient Goddesses like Ishtar, Astarte, Isis and Aphrodite, due to the derived similarities in attributed powers, symbolism and ritual practices. All these goddesses were linked with water bodies in some ways and the symbolism of stars or planets. The same connections are easily traceable to the Christian attributes of Mother Mary also known as ‘Stella Maris’ (Star of the Sea). Though such connections may be vehemently opposed and denied by religious zealots who enforce complete separation between Pagan religions and Christianity.

In Hindu Shaiva and Shakta (mostly Tantric) mythology, Tara is seen as a Mother Goddess. Known as another manifestation of Kali, the master of Time, Tara symbolizes the eternal and unfulfilled hunger that fuels life; the hunger to placate all desires and attain spiritual oneness with the Supreme Being. Like a star that perpetually consumes its own energy, Tara represents the never-ending desires that fuel all life. Hindu oral mythology states that other than appearing with the Dasa Mahavidyas, Tara appeared singularly during the pivotal churning of the ocean ‘Kshira Samudra’ (Ocean of Milk), details of which are related in Vishnu Purana. In this legend, Shiva drank the powerful destructive poison ‘Halaahala’ that surfaced from the churning of the ocean by Devas and Asuras without allowing it to go below his neck, thus saving the world from destruction and earning the appellation of 'Neelakanttha'. As a result, Shiva was incapacitated from the effect of the poison and lost consciousness. The Mahadevi took the form of Tara and came to Mahadeva’s aid. She took the supine body of Shiva on her lap and just like a mother breast fed him, her milk acted as an antidote to the poison, and he recovered. This myth also alludes to the myth in which Shiva stops the rampaging Kali by becoming an infant and crying loudly in the blood soaked battlefield. Seeing the baby, Kali's maternal instincts were roused and her rage and blood thirst subsided and she nursed the infant Shiva. In both cases, Shiva assumes the position of an infant in relation to the goddess.

In the 6 sixth century C.E., during the era of the Pala Empire, Tara was adopted into the Buddhist pantheon as an important Bodhisattva figure. Not coincidentally, this was just a few centuries after the Prajnaparamita Sutra had been introduced into what was becoming the Mahayana Buddhism of India.

Tara in the form of the Great Mother Goddess shares strong links with many Hindu goddesses, such as Druga and Kali. The similarities in iconography between Kali and Tara can’t be missed and they are often worshipped as one and the same. They both stand upon a recumbent Shiva, or a corpse. While Kali’s body is depicted in black, Tara is mostly depicted in blue. Both are either naked or wear animal skin (mostly tiger) or a skirt of severed human limbs. Both wear a garland of severed human heads or skulls. Both have a lolling tongue oozing blood from their mouths. Furthermore, like the Goddess Kali, Tara in her Hindu context enjoys drinking blood, whether Deva, Asura, human or animal is of little consequence. The only distinctive feature of Tara is her pot belly and sometimes she is depicted holding a pair of scissors instead of a ‘Kharga’! No doubt her appearance is fearsome and through this fierceness she subdues the ego and commands complete surrender. Her three most famous forms are Ekajata, Ugratara, and Neelasarsvati.

In Buddhist narrative Tara is introduced through the legend of Princess Jnanacandra (moon of wisdom), daughter of Tathagata Dundubhisvara (sound of drum). She performed ritualistic practices for attaining enlightenment for such a long time that the celestial monks advised her to obtain a male body in order to become a bodhisattva. The princess rejected the monk’s advice and vowed to pursue the bodhisattva path in female form stating that "There is neither man nor woman nor self nor personhood nor notion of such. Attachment to [the designations] ‘male and female’ is meaningless, and deludes worldly people with poor understanding… men have always desired enlightenment but not a single woman strives for the benefit of sentient beings. Therefore, I shall follow this path as a woman as long as samsara exists.” In due process she was elevated to the form of Tara.

Both the Hindu and Buddhist legends have one thing in common: Shakti, the strength of the feminine energy and how it defies patriarchal misogyny. Tara as the mother suckles an incapacitated Shiva and nourishes him back to full power. Shiva in the male god tradition is the all-powerful and often destructive force which causes ‘pralay’ if enraged. Such a masculine force needing to be revived by the feminine force from the brink of destruction is quite a difficult concept to digest and acknowledge for many who uphold patriarchy. Patriarchy does not acknowledge that masculinity can be weak and vulnerable to begin with, so drawing strength from femininity at such a vulnerable moment seems to be even more dishonourable. Princess Jnanacandra rejecting the need for a male body to become a bodhisattva also challenges the almighty masculinity driven religious practices and successfully creates a place of reverence for female bodied bodhisattvas. The sad truth though: the fight for femininity to prove its power, again and again, in comparison and in competition with masculinity is still as much a reality as it was in those ancient times! The need for these narratives to resurface has never lost its importance.

References:

Books:

Beyer, Stephen (1978). Cult of Tārā. University of California Press.

Kinsley, David. Hindu Goddesses: Vision of the Divine Feminine in the Hindu Religious Tradition. India: Motilal Banarsidass.

Online sources: 

https://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Tara

https://kashgar.com.au/blogs/gods-goddesses/tara-a-beautiful-goddess-for-a-not-so-beautiful-world

Thursday, June 21, 2018

Chhinnamasta / Chinnamasta






20.5x28.5 inches; Pen drawing on handmade paper with watercolour wash (Click on image to enlarge)
SOLD. In private collection

Chhinnamasta / Chhinnamastika  / Chhinnamunda

Chhinnamasta is one of the most mysterious, misunderstood and feared Tantric goddesses. She has been shrouded with such enigma and she inspires so much dread in the heart of people because of her sexually explicit and violent iconography.

Traditionally Chinnamasta has been imagined as a young woman who has beheaded herself. This scene is mostly set in a wild and unfriendly landscape with a river flowing in the foreground, or in the midst of the cremation ground. The Devi is mostly represented in the nude with her genitals either covered or visible. She has blood red or dark blue skin but she has been described as glowing like a thousand suns! She has a scimitar / a pair of scissors / a sharp weapon in her right hand with which she has chopped off her own head, which she holds in her left hand. She is often represented with four hands instead of two. She has companions, the two Yoginis named Varnini and Dakini, who are also depicted without a shred of clothing, holding a weapon in one hand. From the wounded neck of the Devi, three streams of blood spurt out like a fountain. Two of these streams feed her companions and one stream feeds the Devi’s own decapitated head. Chhinnamasta wears ornaments of skulls and snakes and so does her companions. She is either depicted as standing or sitting on a copulating couple, mostly identified as the couple Kama and Rati, who symbolize erotic love and desire in Hindu mythology, with Rati on top. In some traditional representations, Krishna and Radha take their place. In certain variations of this iconography, Chhinnamasta is shown to be engaged in coitus sitting on Shiva’s phallus, while Shiva lies prone under her headless body. Depending on the surroundings of the scene, either this entire group is placed on a lotus or a cremation pyre.

Such explicit imagery surely provides enough fodder for speculation and centuries of speculation has given rise to awe and fear for this goddess who doesn’t think twice before cutting off her own head. The question is, ‘Why is such a violent and sexually explicit imagery required to depict the essence of this goddess?’ To find answers one has to delve deeper into the interpretation of the symbols that this iconography represents and how it challenges our understanding of life, death and sexuality.

Primarily, Chhinnamasta is part of the ten incarnations of Mahadevi (The great untamed goddess Aditi, the eternal feminine who, much like Visnu, is believed to maintain the cosmic order.) which forms the group known as Dasa Mahavidyas, which means the ‘ten great cosmic wisdoms’. She also appears in tantric Buddhism. She is known as Chhinnamunda, a form of Vajrayogini. Scholars believe she first appeared in Buddhism before entering the Hindu tradition. The iconography of this goddess in Buddhism is very similar, except she is not depicted as standing on top of a copulating couple.

Chhinnamasta’s origin has been related in the Pranatosini-tantra, Pancharatna Grantha and Svatantra Tantra. With minor variations all these books relate the tale of goddess Parvati, the reincarnation of Sati and the eternal feminine power (Shakti), who once went bathing with her two Yogini followers, Dakini and Varnini. While bathing Parvati was overcome by erotic desires, which made the colour of her skin to change to a darker hue. The two Yoginis were hungry and appealed to the goddess to provide them with nourishment. She suggested that they wait until they returned home to satisfy their hunger. But for some cosmic reason her companions were unable to delay their cravings for nourishment and begged the merciful goddess for immediate satiation. The goddess rose to the need of the moment and severed her own head with a sharp instrument and let her blood flow to nourish her companions. Her severed head attained a trance like state and she also drank of her own blood. Thus Chhinnamasta was revealed to the world. Once their hunger was satisfied, the goddess became whole again and returned to her previous form of Parvati.

Chhinnamasta embodies the age old wisdom of people who have been connected to nature. She reveals the intricate relationship between life, sexual energy and death. Life needs to end, die and decay to provide nourishment for new life to begin. Death nourishes new life and life harbours death. It is an eternal cycle of transformation. Chhinnamasta’s image shows contradicting forces working together. It shows giving and taking, creation and destruction, and life and death without making it obvious who is the receiver and who is the giver. Her image depicts the cyclical nature of the universe and how seemingly opposite forces work in unison to maintain the cosmic balance. The nudity and dishevelled hair associated with Chhinnamasta’s image reveal her sense of untamed freedom and rejection of societal values. She is seen both as the embodiment of sexual energy as well as the channel through which sexual desire can be transformed into spiritual energy. She is Kundalini uncoiled.

If we delve into the psychological impact of Chhinnamasta’s imagery, we come to understand why people fear and reject the concept of a headless deity. It is the suggestion of ‘lack of identity’, which people instantly associate with their own person and become defensive. This is symbolic of detaching the ego or existential identity from one’s body. A body without a head is just a bundle of meat.  In our mundane world where existence is everything, and our way of thinking is largely based on rationale and logic, losing one’s head is equated with insanity and losing touch with apparent reality. In such a world, Chhinnamasta poses a huge challenge to our perception of reality. In the path of spiritual awakening this self sacrifice, symbolized by the decapitation, suggests the separation of the mind from the body, which sets the consciousness free from the traps of the physical body. The ego has to be sacrificed to nourish spiritual hunger. Hunger itself is a metaphor in this tale of Chhinnamasta. It is physical, emotional and spiritual.

Most Hindu deities face their devotees, so that the devotees feel reassured by the fact that the deity is looking at them and hence listening to their prayers and blessing them. In case of Chhinnamasta, she faces her own body. She breaks the duality of external gaze and prods us to look inside our own mind. This is indicative that the answers we are looking for are within us. No external force can help us find spiritual enlightenment if we do not seek it within ourselves and the path of such spiritual awakening will only manifest once we have detached our mind from all form and thought and sacrificed our ego in the process.

References: 
Book - Chinnamasta: The Aweful Buddhist and Hindu Tantric Goddess, Author – Elisabeth Anne Benard.

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Oedipus





12x16 inches; Watercolor, Pen and ink on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Tragedy

Have you lost hope along with your eyes?
When you dug them out with your bare hands
Like cadavers from the depth of their graves
Rendering yourself blind, did you also dig up the guilt?
Had your eyes witnessed too much?
Had they...had you sinned?
Was it all your doing or was destiny your foe?
Or was it your father who set the ball rolling?
Were you not born to kill your own father and be the king?
The father, who driven by fear for his own life,
Had wanted to end yours by snatching you away
From your mother’s suckling breasts and tossing you out,
Out into the wilderness...
Years later, you killed him as a stranger
At the crossroads of your destiny and his.
Was it not poetic justice? Was it not sweet revenge?
Did he not want to cheat you of your destiny?
Did he not think he had erased the cause
And so, the effect?
Do you wish now that your father had not failed,
So long ago, to kill you as a babe?
Should we not compare moral codes and measure
How heavily it inspires guilt to torment our souls?
Take your mother for example.
Society would have her strangle you with your umbilical cord
Knowing that you will grow up to kill her husband
And sleep with her as a lover.
She did not. She could not!
Was that her sin? Did her love for you as a mother,
Stop the milk in her breasts from turning to poison?
Did she love your father any less?
Or did she just resign to her fate?
She did not know you when you came to marry her.
Was that her blame, the inability to identify her son?
Your father did not know the same.
Did she love you any less as her husband?
Why could you not recall her to be your mother?
Did you not know the smell of her breasts
While you kissed them? Could you not sense ‘déjà vu’?
Could you not remember being inside her once
When you were inside her again?
When you saw her hanging in death, did you call out to her?
‘My queen, dear wife, my love, darling... mom...mother...’
What appellation did you find proper to call her by?
For whom do you mourn the most – a mother, a wife or both?
Or do you mourn only for your own tragic life?
Don’t you wish now that the cunning Sphinx
Had riddled you with this instead – ‘Tell me gallant youth,
How does a son love his mother after he has taken her as his wife?’
You would not have known the answer clever one,
And she would have made a meal of you then.
But that was not to be your fate!
Is there any tragedy without the fall of the great?

- Rudra Kishore Mandal

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Narcissus


12x16 inches; Watercolor, Pen and ink on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)
SOLD. In private collection

Narcissus

Reclining by the pool’s end,
You stay lost, gazing at your own face.
Your mind unable to spend
The reasons for such beauty to grace
This unworthy world around...

No, nothing is worthy of you,
No one is good enough for your love!
Trampled they lay like the dew,
Hurt and broken like the arrow shot dove,
Scalded by disdain in you they found.

A love sick sigh escapes, coral lips
Parted in a moist need to kiss the twin
Reflected in the dark pool which sips,
Licks and nibbles at your heart to ruin
And bleed vanity out aground.

Does remorse strike you now?
Remember Ameinias... Echo, you recall?
Feel the sweat gather on your brow
While you await the torment to befall,
Same as a stag cornered by the hound.

No matter how many times
The sword of Ameinias opens you up
Or your cries echo like the chimes,
Your love will not fill your empty cup
Or in your embrace be bound.

You slip into the watery bed
Imagining love waits there with open arms.
Tears of pain and rapture you shed
While being consumed by the siren’s charms,
A flower floats ashore and kisses the ground.

- Rudra Kishore Mandal

Monday, June 12, 2017

Pancha Mahabhoota 5 - Vyom (ether/space)




12x16 inches; Pen drawing on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Kosmos

Who includes diversity and is Nature,
Who is the amplitude of the earth, and the coarseness and sexuality of the earth, and the great charity of the earth and the equilibrium also,
Who has not look’d forth from the windows the eyes for nothing, or whose brain held audience with messengers for nothing,
Who contains believers and disbelievers, who is the most majestic lover,
Who holds duly his or her triune proportion of realism, spiritualism, and of the æsthetic or intellectual,
Who having consider’d the body finds all its organs and parts good,
Who, out of the theory of the earth and of his or her body understands by subtle analogies all other theories,
The theory of a city, a poem, and of the large politics of these States;
Who believes not only in our globe with its sun and moon, but in other globes with their suns and moons,
Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day but for all time, sees races, eras, dates, generations,
The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable together.

- Walt Whitman

Friday, June 2, 2017

Pancha Mahabhoota 4 - Tejas (fire)





12x16 inches; Pen drawing on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Fire

This life that we call our own
Is neither strong nor free;
A flame in the wind of death,
It trembles ceaselessly.

And this all we can do
To use our little light
Before, in the piercing wind,
It flickers into night:

To yield the heat of the flame,
To grudge not, but to give
Whatever we have of strength,
That one more flame may live.

- Dorothea Mackeller

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Desire And Despair





20.5x28.5 inches; Pen drawing on handmade paper with watercolour wash (Click on image to enlarge)

Those cards
Boxes of chocolate
Smell of your soap
On my birthday
The touch
Under the blanket
A strand of your hair
On my pillow
The movie ticket
Our hands
In the dark
Mouths
On the roof
Sultry afternoons
Rain drenched
Like the crows
Sound of
Punctured bicycle tyre
Of pleasure
Maybe guilt
Surely Pain
Caught under
The mosquito
Net
Of desire
To learn French
Do French
Seduction
Wine on our
Skin
Thin veil
Of modesty lost
Liberation
In a bathtub
Dancing
Naked and sticky
‘Baby skin’
Whispered
Tickling my ears
Leaving behind
A trail
Sorrow
Of holding
Hands
In public garden
Eyes flirting
Mouths watering
A shared cup
Of ‘Irani chai’
A bite
Of jealousy
On my nipple
Dripping
Honey words
Poetry
Of laughter and
Longing for
Despair
Heart break
Distrust
‘Dry your tears!’
Bitch
The world
Never ends
To the music
Of dance beats
Sweat
Circling
Measuring
Teasing
Pulling each other
Groin to groin
‘kambakht Ishq’
Old monk
In my vein
Passion
In our loin
Kissing
Till the faithful
Are summoned
Morning prayers
Warm embrace
Enchanted sleep
Deception of
Separation
Distance untraveled
Unwanted
Complications of being
Uncomfortably numb
With failure
Dejection
‘What went wrong?’
Nothing went right
Expectations
Stifled and buried
Dreams
In between
Right and wrong
Flows a river
Of longing
Infested with
Ghosts
Drowned possibilities
Piranhas
Of guilt
And a leaky boat of
Salvation is slowly
Ferried by despair.

- Rudra Kishore Mandal