Pilgrim on the Way of Love

Pilgrim on the Way of Love

by Ananjan


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Pilgrim on the Way of Love is a journey in feelings and words undertaken by the author over a twenty-two-year period. In retrospect, the journey depicted an odyssey in love and revelation. The journey, through its wondrous course, has seen the author as a student of literature, a student of law, a professional lawyer, a family man, and a seeker of the magnetic and dynamic unknown.

Having found enrichment, the author is moved to share the challenge and beauty of the unique navigational path that has been his road to the very core of existence.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781452564364
Publisher: Balboa Press
Publication date: 12/07/2012
Pages: 108
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.26(d)

Read an Excerpt

PILGRIM on the Way of Love

By ananjan

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2012 Ananjan
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4525-6436-4

Chapter One


5 February 1990

On being face to face with love in a human form. Completely unguarded. Yet the feeling of love inspired by human attraction is processed as a transmuted experience of truth.

8 February 1990

A continuation of the previous state but a spirit of hope also emerges

9 February 1990

The first and only sonnet. Three quatrains and a couplet.

10 February 1990

Human love, its melody unconditional and forever.

15 February 1990

Touch of the infernal despair

7 March 1990

Pages of original poems consigned to fire, but the journey remains unknowingly steadfast.

    When I cross the stream
    Upon a dream
    And see my own reflection
    I see my world, turn and twirl
    In vainness and abstraction.

    This is my world
    And I am alone
    With lots of people 'round me
    I strive for meaning
    And I reach out
    Into a world unknown.

    This is your world, your very own
    Where rules are even stranger
    Where people speak and ladies squeak
    But never to a stranger.

    If at all an instance comes
    When you're to open your mouth
    The rule is to hurry
    And never show your worry
    Lest your mouth should reveal your heart!

    Whatever that is your heart hides
    Scorn or hatred or fear
    You won't be punished to let it out
    By laughter or by tear.

    When you ask for anything else
    I am struck by the thought of bells
    But I can't make myself quite clear
    For when I look up for your face
    You've already struck your lightning pace
    And have disappeared round the corner.

    I wait for a few minutes to let you go
    You've had enough of me for a day
    I look at you as you look ahead
    And for home I make my way.

    Moments pass in seriousness
    Until I hit upon this verse
    For I know which way your feet point
    When you walk upon the grass.

    They point towards one position
    That has no magnitude
    As I walk my butterflies
    Towards infinite certitude.

9 March 1990

After a day at St. Xavier's College, Calcutta.

Birthday 5 July 1990

I was generally accused of being disrespectful to social elders as I would not bend and touch their feet in deference, a social practice customary in Bengal. How could I? When I would only bow down to life, that too a thousand times.

15 August 1990

A chance meeting with a 17 year old sprightly young lady

6 December 1990

The lover and literature graduate has now become a law student in a far off land but cannot help the reminiscence.

1991 – 1998

30 January 1991

Confronted with the demon of inaction.

    A year of expression
    A drop of tear
    Infatuation, druggedness, despair
    Such is the explanation not the truth
    Such is the mist – vacant solitude.

    What is retrospective, has been true
    What is fatalistic, more so
    What is human, could hardly be;
    Pushed into the future
    Depriving the present, to be preserved

    In the solace of the past.
    The extinguished flame
    The candle famous and fair
    The trail of its dying smoke
    Rekindling a sleeping passion.
    Mistake again, error ... communication fail
    The desire of life and the legacy of death
    A vision of immortality.

    International Hall, room 470
    University of London
    February 20, 1991
    Withdrawal symptom after a year

    A burnt out case
    In some hapless abstraction of eternity;

    Call it tide, call it vision
    Or call it mere love
    It surely does overflow, overwhelm and overreach,
    Flatten, earthen and turn vain
    All glows and glories of all experience ...

    ... such ...

    Some nameless future doth witness
    Amidst the shadowy aroma of pipe smoke:
    A burnt out end of a matchstick write
    In ashen letters an image of light.

    Someday, in finite existence.
    Triggered by the death of Graham Greene.

26 March 1991

A soul chemistry, how can it not be physical as well?

    Frigidity, a state of the art technology
    Does bear a human analogy
    It is a geographical zone
    Can enter an ice cream cone
    And often a woman's psychology.

    But the sort that this woodhead possesses
    Draws from scientific sources
    It chills the dry bottle of wine
    That turns us mortals divine
    To live in the realm of Goddesses.

April 11, 1991

A joint limerick in aid of my new old Indesit fridge bought from Soho for 20 pounds.

    Once beheld twice seen
    Thrice the vision
    Where I've already been
    What a relief to feel human again
    To be freed from the rusted chain
    Of a long forgotten humanity.

    The doe eyed wonder that touches and moves,
    The freshness of mind that at once removes
    The weary stains of stagnation.
    Now, back to the ways of law and living
    In peace;
    Assured in life and in spirit
    Simply 'for yo' truth.

7 May 1991

A humble worship if the ONE In the One in Ingold House

12 May 1991

Power outage in Russell Square, unusual. While human love restrains, a twilight state inspires an affectionate self awakening.

      Behind the veil of personality
      Breathing out the air of indifference,
      The same breath whose onward journey
      Warmed the commitment of love, in life and death
      Thus pursing the spirit in the message of
      Human detachment.

      Today, having to bear the burden
      Of the whisper that thundered at the
      Intersection ...
      Of beginning and end
      Of yes and no
      Of being and non being
      Of light and of darkness ...
      From our twilight kingdom
      Is a little distressful
      Under this Calcutta sun.

      The unthought shadow, in her unknown glance
      Supplements the bliss of this trance
      It shall end in liberation or freedom
      When there would be no burden to bear
      Moving forward in life from power to power.
      And the vision; that came, and lost for ever.

      14 August 1991
      Still coming to terms

28 October 1991

Here we go again! Reaffirming and reliving the first feeling.

    In apprehension of Lady X

    First time I write your name.
    Time is approaching for you to come
    Into this welter of circulating motion.

    Our meeting is still afar
    Yet the word has been said
    But where I pray, in time and space!
    Do I know?

    An echo of it crosses my mind
    Such is the knowledge of things to come
    Unknown to me your hands and nose
    Unknown your bosom, your private close
    And a stranger stands your heart
    Beyond vision, beyond comprehension.

    Yet I stand with folded arms
    With all my past present and future
    In waiting.
    When the time comes
    And the silence hears the command
    To dissolve.

    These folded hands shall part for once

    To receive you in festivity
    In sagacity
    In pomp and youthfulness
    And above all, in humility.

    Our journey shall begin
    At our journey's end.
    To confront all the countless ends
    That lie on the way to eternity.

    With this I close
    The words that broke
    The cardinal law of time.

    And you and me
    Though strangers be
    May in friendship always chime.

    International Hall
    December 5, 1991
    Astrologer told me I am yet to meet my life partner. Does not mean I
    cannot write about her!

    Resting in peace
    Upon the bed of death
    There is still some time
    Before they take him upon their shoulders
    To go to the crematorium.

    But what do I see!
    He gets up on his feet
    Urgency in every bit of his movement
    Time is short –
    Rajen, Ghuna, Mangla
    Take of those weeds!
    Water that bed!
    Time is short
    For they'll soon take him
    To the crematorium.

10 December 1991

A recent dream expressed on the news of Bholanathbabu's death in Mihijam

    The Art of Perception
    "into that calm of mind all our passions spent"

    The good, the bad
    The pretty, the ugly
    Pass through one tunnel
    Called indifference.

    The craving, the pleasure
    The let down, the disacknowledgment
    Enter the same tunnel
    Called indifference

    The non commitment and the disacknowledgment
    Is related
    In that very tunnel
    Called indifference

    The negation and the celebration of
    The pain of truth
    The shivering restraint of the elevated joy
    Is felt in the same tunnel
    Would you still call it indifference?

    IH, London
    February 28, 1992
    Someone perceived me to be indifferent and non-committal. You
    women – so concerned with immediate gratifications!

    What is it that rules your heart
    that makes you cry that makes you laugh
    Often dissolving them
    between the feeling and the expression
    into grace
    precipitating into another step
    Ascend, ascend dear traveller
    then wait.

    Wait for her call and then for your answer
    trying to fathom her beyond that juncture
    play the game of exercise
    see another sun rise
    stretch yourself .. yourself ..
    then fall asleep.

    A new day with a new meaning
    welcomes the old self, its stale yearning
    with the promise of an easter egg.
    Lick the walls and imagine
    the sweetness that is within
    Carry it safe and put it away
    It'll surely emerge another day.

    Look back with the lonely heart
    the faces that transcend the dark
    the secret stress, the warm kiss,
    the one that turned you all amiss
    lend you their hand,
    And mind you,
    that is all that they can do.

    The perpetual word of assurance
    the mutual glance of elegance
    lights up the way;
    If not the way to take
    at least the way you came.

    The rest is yours to fathom still
    It's Twelfth Night or what you will
    The Tempest is somewhere growing.
    Stop not at the rounded sleep
    Forge ahead 'Santam' peace
    'Sivam' the recompense,
    'Advaitam' the one in all.
    Though today, its still the Easter Egg.

London 4 March 1992

A classic question and answer. Santam is the peace in the heart of all conflict. Sivam is the good that emerges out of all suffering and loss. Advaitam is the 'One' in all diversity of creation.

    Birthday Gift

    Set of six
    And when it kicks
    Sparkle scatters
    In unchallenged tatters

    There they go
    The days once more

    Light a candle
    Perhaps make a scandal!

    Yet a special day
    though just by the way

    An unofficial kiss
    a fragile birthday wish.

    International Hall
    March 17, 1992

    With a birthday gift of 6 wine glasses to another's lady in Cambridge


    Contemplation is good
    But action is better

    The desire for fulfilment
    though sought in asking
    is only realised in giving.

    The desire, the action and the contemplation
    is caught in an illogical progression

    Is it better to give in
    Or is it discipline?

    Shall we force
    Or shall we salvage?

    Make it happen
    Or heed its beckon?

    You FOOL – observe the one and do the other
    And don't believe any altogether!

    International Hall
    May 30, 1992
    Ask and thou shall be granted

    A Reluctant Invocation of The Muse

    Last time I recall holding your hand
    As you walked me through my very own land
    I used your back as I had done before
    and passed across that holy shore.

    Today, months have passed
    I call you again
    to ride me on your chair
    I sit and write
    There's no delight
    No light to pierce the air.

    What had happened?
    What has become?
    What is it that's yet to be?
    Where am I?
    Why am I?
    What is it that I do not see!

    Well, here you are
    to put me across
    that unknown and unfathomed sea.

    But what's the use if I don't take the plunge!
    When shall I!
    When shall I!!
    When shall I!!!

    See the depth
    or drown and die
    Is there anyone with me?

    58 Dorchester House
    24th October, 1992
    In a vortex of struggle, confronted with inner resistance.

    Carpe Diem dear lady

    Let us go then
    you and me
    the chimney pot, the Christmas tree;
    a smoky passage, celebration,
    to some unknown destination.

    I wear the cap
    to make you santa claus
    you treat the children I brave the laws
    the turkey crackles, upon Heaven's way
    it is not yet boxing day.

    November 7, 1992
    58 Dorchester House
    Inner resistance of another.

    The calm assurance of death is no more
    in its place the unsettling reigns.

    At this 25th anniversary of my birth
    I am left with no meaningful words to speak
    Yet the silence is killing!
    I cannot cry, nor can I laugh

    I do not understand what love means
    But once I did, I did, only too well.

    Then do we really move from darkness to knowledge on the wings of
    experience or is it only me who has boarded on the wrong side?

    Creativity – the charcoal burns but is covered by an impenetrable dark

    Personality – don't even know what to say, how to react!

    Love – what have I done with it??
    Are we not worthy of it?
    I do and I don't – the significance ought to be something greater.

    In spite of everything – I sink deeper and deeper, the windows close
    one by one.

    The power, the power to open them, to break them all. I struggle
    to be born – O' Birthday!

    July 5th 1993, Birthday
    Initial signs of the re birthing process, in retrospect.


Excerpted from PILGRIM on the Way of Love by ananjan Copyright © 2012 by Ananjan. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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