— Hugo Branley
Sarla Thakral was first Indian woman to fly. Born in 1914, she earned an aviation pilot license in 1936 at the age of 21. After obtaining the initial license, she completed one thousand hours of flying. While she was working towards a commercial pilot license, World War II broke out and civil training was suspended. Later, her husband, the first Indian to earn an airmail pilot’s license, died in a crash. She abandoned her plans to become a commercial pilot and joined the Mayo School of Art in Lahore, where she trained in the Bengal school of painting and obtained a diploma in fine arts. (Wiki)
Mouth is a canyon, open to swallow,
rolling under the feet of Man, tumbling
rumbling within, a deep booming bellow.
Heavy machinery, fingers fumbling
with the women that roar in boomerangs
of pillars around definitional selves,
of lightening forks, silver spoons, hunger pangs,
of production cycles and Dali’s shelves.
Reform the platforms on which we rely,
pulverize to give birth to monstrous eye:
pervasive Panopticon that defiles.
Emphasize profits to revolutionize.
Babies in gestation are simply clay.
Program them young, purify the savage,
commercialise the channels that relay
to subconscious. Inculcate the damage.
We can teach them to calculate the sum
of gritted teeth and of diseased livers
of the logic of equilibrium,
but it only provides halves in slivers,
Apply the self, instant gratification,
blizzards and maelstroms in oscillation.
Time is the ceaseless undertow on rocks,
circumnavigating the orthodox.
To create is to destroy through process.
Industrial mutation carves new courses,
violent shift in dynamics, relentless,
a destruction of productive forces.
The modern day of rocket propellers,
of radio-lines and computers and cars,
of road-side dwellers and peanut-shellers,
of buses we miss by minutes or hours.
Pareto optimality thesis –
Contradictions, cataclysms, crisis –
the conditions for self-preservation,
exchange-value and interrelation.
Reduce subjects to their base elements
Fragmented, fraying from the fundaments.
"Out beyond this" (2014) by Tara Shenoy. Inspiration: "A bird went in search of a cage" (Aphorism 16, Zurau Aphorisms).
Propelled by horror, harrowing, I bare myself so readily now, as if the wretchedness of my entrails is somehow evocative. Voyeur-vultures hungry for carcass or self-reflective dissection? Unravelling, but the attachment of appellations to self so derogatory is far from useful. Wipe the windscreens for vision, it stings too much to see beyond the haze.
Quietly picking up the hard blocks
turn to soft and crumble.
He lends a sympathetic ear
to the first few moans before
The occupation is taxing
to a moneylender,
selling souls cheap to the hungry.
Have the seasons changed
so quickly? Summer warmed these bones
Coconuts have hard shells
because they are empty.
Drowning - Banks
Take it from the girl you claimed to love,
you’re going to get some bad karma.
I’m the one who had to learn
to build a heart made of armour.
From the girl who made you soup and tied your shoes
when you were hurting, you are not deserving.
I’m drowning for you.