Mors Mortis

Death is a poorly understood phenomenon, in spite of the sheer volume of philosophy and research dedicated to understanding it. One potent indicator of this is the prevalence of myths and legends about the undead.

These lores and legends talk about the consequences of an interrupted transition to the afterlife. The creatures that are born out of such consequences have been described differently across the ages, and much can be surmised about the original purpose behind describing them and the inspiration behind those descriptions.

Classification

I.            Incorporeals – Ghosts, Spirits, Poltergeists, Banshees, etc.

These are apparitions which arise spontaneously as a consequence of the deceased having unfulfilled desires. More often than not, the cause of death is foul play, but COD and post-mortem treatment are not a major criterion for their origin.

These beings are not attached to corpses, but are very location specific.

II.            Reanimated Corpses – Zombies, Mummies, Inferi, etc.

These creatures are generated by special post-mortem treatment and usually have limited sentience. In the rare occasions that they have a will of their own, such as in the case of Frankenstein, it is usually derived from the past experiences of the inhabitant of the corpse in question. Cause of death is deciding factor.

III.            Modified Corpses – Vampires, Lycanthropes, Dementors, etc.

The living body is sustained by food, breath and water, and has corresponding powers and limitations. When the body loses the capability to sustain itself and hence its life-force, death occurs. Theoretically, death can be ‘cheated’ by modifying the mode of sustenance. Naturally this gives rise to a whole new creature, with different powers and limitations. The term Undead is most usually applied to such creatures.

Lycanthropes, such as werewolves, and Mr. Hyde, are creatures that are capable of dual existence i.e. both in human and supernatural forms, the latter being parasitic on the former. Vampires, on the other hand, are immortals, requiring blood or some other form of life force – ichor, or chi, for example – for sustenance.

Vampires

Vampire lore is one of the most enduring legends in the world. Its timeless appeal is attributable to both its foundations and its adaptability. I present here some of the key components of the lore.

Blood

Blood is one of the two liquid connective tissues, and along with breath, the very symbol of vitality. It is unsurprising, therefore, that it is held in reverence. But unlike breath, blood is also intimately linked to procreation, which makes it especially venerable; fit for a sacrifice to the gods, even.

World over, various rites and practices have been reported that are founded upon the sanctity of blood. These practices range from the Mayan human sacrifices, to the smearing of jurors’ lips with blood before they passed judgment, in Ancient China. Most notable among these is the Catholic tradition of Corpus Christi – the symbolic partaking of the blood and the body of Christ.

Thus, one of the original reasons for condemning vampires was that they partake of the essence of godliness, the divine offering – in effect denying and denouncing the divinity of the Deity.

Evil

What makes a vampire fundamentally different from a mosquito? A mosquito wreaks much more havoc, is zealously hunted, yet never condemned – merely accepted as a part of creation. Why then, are vampires not treated as a separate species and left at that?

More often than not, it seems, vampires are punished as humans are, because they have lost their humanity. But is the resemblance to a human adequate reason for judging a vampire on the human scales of good and evil?

Is it that like the humans, vampires are damned by an Original Sin of their own, because their progenitor was created out of an act of heresy or a curse?

These are only some of the questions that arise out of the possibility of such creatures. The fact remains that evil has been as misunderstood by humans as death has been. Perhaps the vampire legends are an indicator – a litmus test of sorts – for the concepts of good and evil popular during the creation of those legends. Dracula, for example, is described as being wholly evil. Modern tales like the Vampire Diaries and the Twilight Saga, however, ascribe to them a choice, an attempt at redemption.

Eternity

The fact that senescence and death are essential to the renewal of life on this planet, give them a place of honour among the theistic laws of the universe – all those are born, must die. The vampire legends give them the powers of immortality, but not invincibility – they can still be destroyed.

Nevertheless, the vampires’ existence, if only in theory, tells of a way to flout this divine law. And it is for the transcendence of this law that vampires are also often condemned. But all legends concur on one thing – that eternal life itself is punishment for seeking it.

Life can be harsh, even for those who are seemingly well provided for. It requires courage to face the here and now, and live every moment. Much has been written about life being wasted on the living. Imagine how much harder it would be to try to live on for eternity, with nothing but a conscience (if any) for company.

This is most prominent in Anne Rice’s works, whose vampire protagonists fight the eternal battle between the loneliness of the damned and their lust for preternatural power.

Whatever they may be, sentient, or evilly so, or maybe just a glorified human, the concept of vampires is definitely unfamiliar to those who do not see death as an end or to those who’ve never believed in any evil force like The Adversary, and generally find both death and evil easier to accept.

The western mentality makes it hard to accept both Death and Evil. And hence the origin of the lore surrounding the Undead in the Occident. Creatures who have cheated death. Creatures who resemble humans yet prey upon them. Creatures who must do evil to sustain themselves.

These things, vampires and such, are powerful insights into occidental ideas of death and evil. The lore is ubiquitous and contemporary, because they deal with questions which are eternally on the western mind.

Mid-term Anthology

My encounters with verse this term were mostly of the order of doggerel. Here’s a few worth display. Written in the last few minutes before I left for home last term...

Thanatos

Water in my cupped hands
Trickles swiftly by,
I sit by myself waiting
For my time to die.

Last term it was HRP, this term, SRM. And so the cycle continued...

Amen

Adder's bladder, eagle's eye,
Roofie tainted apple pie,
The merciful YHWH hath looked my way,
Now my days go happily by.

Also written in the same class, but expressing dismay over PRD (tools), BFM (terror), Marketing (Ronin) and STM (games), was this.

Alas!

Tools of terror, Ronin's games,
Sissy knights & brazen dames,
The poetess me is made undead,
By this topsy-turvy chivalry.

I was sitting next to Mausami, hoping to keep her amused with these verses, when I happened to look back and found that the interest of even the twin rubies was ebbing away.

But who?

Sparkling water loses shine,
And muffles his gay song.
The season I try to keep amused,
But I can’t hold on long.

Another day, another uninteresting lecture, I wrote my notes on a brand new notepad. The title for this poem stems from the fact that I found an interpretation for this poem (3 actually) after I wrote it.

Hermeneutics

Colours on a tinted paper,
Rarely appear true,
But lack of paleness scarce affects,
The richness of their hue.

Same lecture, different theme - the सुभाषितानि

Maxims

The darkness of ignorance,
Doth many fancies make,
A halter thus innocuous,
Appears as a snake.

Fear inspires reverence,
Reverence desire,
All hope of seeing light,
Is extinguished by such fire.

In striking similarity to my HRP course, I found myself unaccompanied by my trusty file in many an SRM class, the first time due to the fact that I’d just returned from the Visarjan of the Goddess. Fortunately, every time this has happened, I have managed to make a fair and duly embellished copy of the notes. The yields:

Full Moon

I first glimpsed my true love,
Alas on such a fateful day,
Although my shafts had hit him true,
They’d wounded him the wrong way.

The Refuge

Every once in a while, comes a time,
The most prosaic must resort to rhyme,
When the mind cares not for the mores of the gross,
And the soul is lost in depths sublime.

For the uninitiated, in Greek Mythology, Hypnos (sleep) and Thanatos (death) are twins.

Hypnos

O Somnus Deo, Lord of rest,
Don't you put my powers to test,
For how may anyone well-disposed,
Refuse thy charms and make protest?

In an inanely trite STM guest lecture on entrepreneurship, it hit me harder than before, that I wrote just to keep the cogs in my head running...

Quality

I'm bored and sleepy,
I really need to leave,
I can't help but writing,
In such quality.

My prose is dying,
My verse doggerel,
And yet I can't stop writing,
Such dense drivel.

My eyes are drooping,
My hand is disarrayed,
But I've got to keep writing,
Or I'll be dismayed.

Another lecture, different passions, different meters...

Poverty

Heartstrings ache & gizzard growls,
At the sight of pleasure, scowls,
How may I faultless my soul placate,
And reconcile to my poverty.

Jealousy

When the scorching hype,
Burns not the actor so lit,
Shadows cross my life.

And one fine day, I was suddenly the most sought after person. It was RAJAXI night, and I found myself without pen or paper or Bare Act in a Law presentation class. So I borrowed some, and decided to keep myself engaged. Four doggerel verses later, something sensible came out. The first and last one describes peoples' various attempts at creativity, and the reactions that some of them face.

Classroom Battles

Beautiful minds fill the rows
flanked by comrades.
Armed by notions several
they fight for grades.

Attempt at Sense

Ennui pushes my pen
Inanity flows as ink
Such is the sorry result
When I write before I think

The Law of Pleadings

So if you got a valid point,
Don't you bogey that joint,
For the law of pleading is misleading,
And will all your pleas ignore.

Cows with Guns

Towering folks short on guts
Face cow-dung
Big promises and bigger buts
Will be hung

After that I swore to end my romance with doggerel. This means that I rarely give in to my urge to write nowadays. But then promises like that don’t last long. Here’s one describing a friend’s SRM ppt.

Measures

Water minus fluidity,
Chills me to my funny bones.
I bare my teeth in mirth,
To conceal my slaked thirst.

Sometimes the sight of ointment (salve) can bring you pain. It happened to me, making me write this...

Paucity

The sight of alien salve
Opens sore wounds.
Yet even lowly salt
Remains to them elusive.

All in all, life's been good. Winter has given up the stage to summer, with spring visible only in the deciduousity of the deodar trees. I've given in to the dangerous habit of extreme sleepiness, while ensuring that no one, not even me, can blame yours truly for lack of diligence and enterprise. As the countdown to the end of this term starts, I wish all my companions (willing or no) in the journey of life, as much self-awareness, as they can tolerate.

A VERSatile Term

It all began with the SIP. Was the process as random as it was touted to be? I pondered about it. Finally, I came to the conclusion that...for all that I can say or do, I’ll get what life drifts my way. But in spite of that I’ve a boat to float, and distant lands to explore...

The Drift

A boat to float, an axe to grind,

Some taken, some left behind,
For all that I can do or say,
I’ll only get what comes my way,
Both truths I have to reconcile,
And not get stuck in life’s turnstile

One fine HRP class, the day we were taught the R & S plan; my attention flickered for the first time with dangerous intensity... Soon I was dreaming of Vikram Seth’s Frog... Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks, Insults or complaints or bricks...

Dwarfed by the Drivel

Drips, feathers, and thumbscrew leathers,

Putrid words and two-pronged swords,
And all the things that get the soul to shrivel,
Are all outdone, they’re dwarfed by the drivel.

The next class... Induction & placement... I was suddenly reminded of Prof. Prithviraj H. Soni...

Faulty Faucet

Filled frustum with a faulty faucet,

Lynches lustre from a lucky locket,
Pious plea from the profoundest pocket,
Requests release from this reeking racket.

The same class, different rhythm... Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak... In response to the gassy ppt.

Global Action Strategy

Idle thoughts will leave no trace,

Little substance, too much space,
What head or heart or soul divine,
Can tolerate such gimmickry?

The Equivocator

Kiss the snake and smooch the frog,

Feed the swine and slay the hog,
Put even Janus to such shame,
That he resorts to heresy.

The aforementioned person’s  response to mid-term feedback...

Payback

Six score people and three more,

Take the cue and fuel uproar,
Poor old dusty rusty James,
Dances merrily on the flames.

Then I woke up after the ad hoc fast I observed in honour of the completion of PMIR batch placements; I felt weak (a hitherto unobserved occurrence in my experiences with fasting), so I had needed a nap. The next day I missed my beloved repository of poetry and assorted class notes (a really handy notepad along with a notepad and pen holder). I searched high, I searched low... alas! It was gone...

Grief

Syllables weep and letters cry,

Words fall dumb and ideas die,
Grief for those who are now long gone,
Puts those expected on standby.

They died not from the cold without, but from the cold within... And so I pondered about the true source of my hatred and suffering...

The Cold Within

Hated icons sting the eye,

Torture eardrums, neurons fry,
But seeking source, I come to find,
Not the cold without, but the heat behind.

Mad at the loss of my random limerick rhymes, I clutched at their fast disappearing remnants...

Water In My Cupped Hands

Rhythms of my past ruminations,

Echoes and odd emanations,
Balderdashy exclamations,
Lost to my lamentations.

Succession Plan... I drifted to the fall of the Angel Castiel. But the poem was completed in the first AFM guest lecture.

Vagus

Decadent lanes in cities plagued,

More from devices than vices base,
The entrails, limbs and life blood suffer,
From the tortuous traitorous train of thoughts.

These three directly followed Vagus, on the same occasion.

Blind faith

Rosy hues turn into the colours of gore,
Veils vanish between the morrow and yore,
When doubtful fire melts not the wax of sin,
The wick burns out; there is darkness galore

TAXI

Take a look beyond the veil,
Where voices die & letters fail,
What mortal heart not made of stone,
Can be so averse to verity?

Unheard Tales

Floating leaves on a silent stream,

Pass their lives in equal silence,
The world cares not for their silent scream,
But turns away in deafening silence.

The day that culminated in SIP wetnite... A highly productive and successful day... Another trio

Brainless Rapture

Amos wounded by his own shaft,

Had set his eyes on Psyche,
So when we began the HRP draft,
We traded brains with a monkey.

An ode to my dear friend Aditya Gupta...

The sage Kashyapa had two wives,

Diti & Aditi – with two lives,
One brought forth demons, the other gods,
One ate snails, the other gastropods.

সিয়ার 

জাতে মাতাল তালে ঠিক,

যে না ভজে তারে ধিক, 

পিতা সম পালে প্রজা,

নিয়ত কিন্তু নহে সজা

And then I wrote a few verses of purely academic nature, till one day the “poetic attack” grinded to a halt...

Claviceps purpurea

Rocking candies, fluffy clouds,

Seeing music, tasting shrouds,
Whatever infected my sweet prose,
Feasted also on my poetry.

Saddened by the demise of my VERSatility, I sat next to Ruchika, out in the open, after the Law exam, to pen down my least favourite pieces...

For Amrit, the Sworn Enemy of Verse

My friend Amrit, he hates a rhyme,

And I worship all verse sublime,
To make him mad, and ruin his day,
I sent these five lines his way:

“Each word that makes a verse,
Each beat that makes a rhythm,
Every crystal that is not amorphous,
Is an illusion of order
In a universe destined to chaos.”

Ode to Lucifer and the First Born

When Lilith raised her lone head,

And did not to her equal succumb,
She left us both wiser and dead,
And left Utopia to the dumb.

Because it is in hunger that we seek the truth,
It is in bareness that we weave its semblance,
It is in the depths that we are cleansed the most,
And it is the bringer of light who keeps us from eternal darkness.

As an afterthought, I wrote an alternative, rhyming version of the second stanza, which reads like this:

Because only the hungry can succour find,
Only the wounded can heal their kind,
Only the depths can truly scour,
And the bringer of light keep us from the dooming hour.

Since I’d just written a law exam, I asked myself if crime paid or not. I decided that it did.

Scot free

Eaten sugar, told lies,

Given very bad advice,
Done every offence in the book,
Look dad! I’m still off the hook!

And then I thought of free will, and the debate on its existence...

The Marionettes

One by tail, the other by horn,

Sowed the kernel, reaped the corn,
Reduced all creation to finger puppets,
Alas! Found to oneself strings attached.

Epilogue: The lost notepad was found (this post wouldn’t have been possible otherwise), and I await my last exam, expecting a last spark of such productivity. All words fail to express my love and gratitude towards my friends (and to those who have unknowingly or unwillingly benefitted me), for making this term so awesome.

PS: When in doubt, remember G for God, G for Google

Me, in verse

What I do, wherefore and why,

I know not and the days go by,

Here that I am, whence did I come,

Where will I go, these are just some,

Queries that I have, and forsooth,

I won't flinch in the face of the truth.

When it's play, it's just that, a game,

But done for a living, it's not the same,

By the time I knew, my days were spent,

Upon my resolve, I had to repent,

Disgraced by the Monarch, and out of spite,

I left Sangraal for the Jesuits' light.

My hand, my pride, the place I reside,

I am within and beauty outside,

What I see, I get the same,

If I lose it, I am to blame,

Strange bedfellows, my mind and me,

An empty manger, not a place to be.