Versing On Verse: Epidemic Exchanges

    (Mohua Sen, Ranjini Debnath, Suneeta Kaul, Avi Das, N.Madhavan…and the Mythical Jester)

 

 

The Mythical Jester

 

Welcome dear ladies, and the odd gentlemen

Welcome to a strange world, of versing women n men.

Stung by networking, but strung by messages

A clunkety flow, this opus presages

Written in a hurry, scribbled in a minute

These verses are realised, after one’s done it

But n’erthless hold their unique charm

Like teenage jokes, shared in dorms

If the structure jumps, apologies are due

Let the show begin, the let the bell ring true!

 

Aditi

This is getting terribly exciting
the propect of writing in poetry is super inviting
And the anticipation of having your dry and biting
sense of humour spewed on me is absolutely worth fighting
my packed work hours for a bit of time
to squeeze in just a bit of rhyme!!

but this is only the beginning
now its your turn to be penning
a few lines to get the conversation running
i certainly hope you’re gunning
for a whose-line-esque meeting of minds
with absurdities, imagination and intelli-geeince!

Madhavan

Emails, I say, do go faster

But then I am a broadcaster

I like many to read a one-off

In the fond hope of seeing hats doffed

Such vanity visits the creative urge

A quality I wish sometimes to purge

Delusions, however, are difficult to leggo

Massage as they do, one's blighted ego

So I write then, for 15-minute fame

Reducing my flair to a trivial game

Of such ironies is life made

This player is aloof from what is played!

       

 

Ranjini

In doffed hats, applause and acclaim

Sure basks a true wordsmith’s name
But from what rumour mills churn, as I hear
Ryze’s new rules of borders and beyond, I fear
Are fashioning writers’ blocks, bunging their thoughts
Thus unleashing a withdrawal endemic of sorts
Oh in all this mess and muddle, I wonder
What’s better, than to e-con’verse,’ and ponder
On life’s complexities, and networking obscurities
Unless, I fly down, and meet you o’er hot cups'a coffees

 

The Mythical Jester

Real worlds and Ryze worlds, seem oceans apart

Much as we like, we cannot just dart

So we must look for solace in cyberspace

Somehow fulfill this all-new craze

Let’s now usher in Ms Mohua Sen

On wandering Avi, she targets her pen!

 Mohua

a muse who plays games of cat and mouse
and wanders around in search of a house
is it in pune quaint that he will find his feet
or in mumbai, will he his ambitions meet
we wish him well in his life's mission
and hope that this is one script, he takes to completion!

Twixt Pune and Mumbai, you hang fragile as a thread
Honor and friendship, or earning your daily bread
“Friendship” you pronounce, though I might run out of gas
Oh Mumbaikars, have you ever seen a lad, like young Avee Das?

(…with due apologies to Sir Walter Scott for stealing his lines and of N Madhavan for stealing his Muse!)

Avi

 True it be the Pot’s privilege to call the Kettle black
Who else but the pot bellied can ridicule each other’s slack?
While truly your verse the fair pages adorn
And cryptic responses leave the Y chromosomal pages forlorn
Lets pepper each other with limericks back to back! :P

Madhavan

Watch him now, taken by wanderlust
His words are like a cake’s crust
A little odd in shape, and then in rhythm
But his thoughts go where one cannot fathom
Avi’s limericks pollute the verses
I wish one of these days, he rehearses!

Mohua

Following conversations, egging on Mad Havens
Taking equal interest in old ladies and young maidens
Ah, Don Quixote your time is past
The windmills lie silent, the sky is overcast
Tilting at windmills might be your passion
But that’s not going to help keep you in fashion
The city of Mumbai can be hostile and cold
(Though many swear, her streets are paved with gold)
 O young Avee Das has come out to the West
Of all the Ryzers, his speed was the best
And save his good keyboard, he weapons had none
(After all, not many hit the 25k zone)
Fired with dreams, and powered by zeal
So sure, the evils of the world he will heal
Armed with his pen, that he wields as a sword
(And with some help from the Microsoft Word)

 

The Mythical Jester

As it happens in life, it does in this opus

Some posts get lost, and one loses one’s focus

So the Jester intervenes to string up the pearls

So they rest well in the hairs,  and upon those curls

Here now comes a brief protest

Ms. Sen’s views, our man does contest

For she said his fiery pen spared none

Perhaps in jest, perhaps for fun!

Madhavan

 No one escapes my fiery pen?
Nah, there is now n then an exception
I do spare some women and men
Er, for example, Mohua Sen!

 

The Mythical Jester

And then it transpires, the mentioned Ms. Sen

Plays the Narad, with flair and ken

Twirling a tussle twixt Avi and M

Who wields a peace pipe. Ahem!

M does not recall calling Avi a name

But for  honour’s sake, he must confront that dame!
 
Madhavan

 So I called Mr. Das an oddball?
And now you mention it, he'll question my gall
Kick me around, the Bong, like a football
Oh, dear me, you are leading me to my fall
All I can say, in earnestness
After you led me into this curious mess
That one man's oddball is another man's unique
I was saying he is special, not calling him a freak!

 

The Mythical Jester

 

In the flurry of words, adorning this work

Fate blocks the way, with its twists and quirks

Some lines get lost, in wordy avalanches

One just retains, what one catches

Without repeating this, ad-nauseum

Something Ms. Sen said, was about some museum.

 
Madhavan

 Now, it has happened as I feared
Bad news comes from one who cheered
Before one can exclaim: Yeh kya hua?
Out comes a strange line from Mohua
Tis bad enough for muse to become muser
And worse when that one ain't a Lady, but Sir
Hell! I find things reaching a lower low
When she goes to deliver a further blow
Le Museume, She would call our place!
Such ignominy slapped upon our face
Just when I thought she liked our word-tricks
Here we are, feeling like old relics!

Avi
I’m the muse in search of my mews
And to seek a billet I can’t tarry
For though I’d amuse with rhymes abstruse
The Museum alas isn’t a potential quarry
There are matters alright which brings about plight
And times far too strict to allow lunge and parry.

 

The Mythical Jester

Lo and behold! The game has changed

The Original One’s verily challenged

He realises his game, of versing banter

Picked up speed, beyond a canter

With matching lines from responding friends

The throne’s not his, though he pretends

So, he responds, in fury; with words candid

He’s met his matches. Truly, indeed!

Madhavan

Just when I thought I had my way
End of the dark tunnel, light of day
Taking refuge in rhyme and verse
I see capitalism's competition curse
Up come two scribes, bards to boot
Strike at my branches, then my root
In pale packages of flattering praise
They, in effect, my hackles raise
Steal my style, rhyme and thunder
Make me feel, like going under

With exquisite dabs of wordy meters
They defeat my art; oh, the cheaters!
Tis perhaps time to surrender
Return my skills, back to Sender
Oh, fie! Enemies visit as friends
Erode my brand, these wretched fiends
Reluctantly I hand them, a bouquet bloomin'
My lips a-smilin, but mah heart fumin'!

The Mythical Jester

 

On hearing the above, from the Original Verser

Ms. Sen moved the keyboard, and the cursor

Said something to the effect, that she will cease

Rhyming and versing, so M will be pleased.

Madhavan
Pray, Ms. Sen, do not desist
Even if the heart says: Resist
I'll abandon my creative affliction
Perhaps switch to prose/fiction
For you are indeed among the chosen few
So I'll abandon verse for clerihew!

Suneeta

"I see that it is raining n-mad!!
who, in his own sweet way, has had
a go at things, divine and corporal
in verse, both profound and nonsensical!
he makes mention of two scribes
ah, the bonding and oh! the vibes!
'oft, the thought doth occur, u see
cud 1 of the scribes mentioned be me!!

Madhavan

Verses are like people, seeming all so similar

But scratch the ground, you'll shake the pillars

Beyond the bare necessities of rhyme

Each one is different, in its own time

The two scribes mentioned, fall in my bracket

Their words and rhythm, follow my racket

Yours then, are a separate type

An excellence that stands above our tripe

Your commas are special, so to speak

They gave a tang, decidedly unique

So here I proffer my poetic thesis:

Your verses are of a rare paranthesis

The commas run good, like tasty nuggets

The rhythm they make: as good as it gets!

Why then should I put you in with Ms. Sen

When you have your own way, with the pen

Much as we all are of the same tribe

Variegated are verses, so are scribes!


Suneeta
oh, so you, and you alone, are responsible
for this trend, that sure seems irreversible
with much abandon, it rages on and on
through the day, the night and the morn
like as the howlin' 'o' the volcanic eruption
with a sleight of mind, 'n' overtures of deception
the contagion spreadeth, now uncontrolled
but beware! for it's 'oft that i am told
invisible, frankenstein somewhere lurks
 the beginnin's easy, 'tis the endin' that hurts!

 

Madhavan

It spreads like fire; nay, like AIDS

Adopted and adapted by bright new maids

So many succumb to this dangerous scourge

Dear Lord, whence comes this urge

Is it the word, or its ease of use

That its inspiration, one cannot refuse?

(Is imitation still the best of flattery?

Do I have in this, some dubious lottery?)

I think I have unearthed, forces latent

Rhymers and versers, an abundance of talent

Rendering myself  jobless in the process

Losing my privilege, feeling like the masses

A little solace, however, makes my day

I started 'em all, on this wretched way

Maybe I shall start, a versing school