things that i have (un)learnt in the third spring

May 8, 2024 / Saikat / Leave a comment

i have learnt that the beech leaves must fall
as the sun rises higher
to liberate–
the ground
from snow

then the trout lilies
spring with
one set of anthers
one day
and other
the next

because the red-necked false blister beetle
must eat
some pollen,
in order to spread
more; that
the beetle too
has to survive,

so they make
cantharidin–
a blister causing compound

it can
still
be a joy to
learn new
chemicals in context

this instance–
walking in the forests
in my third spring
of living in
this foggy corner

this is where
my learning
stops

i refuse
endless learning
that is
not
tempered by
unlearning

as “The tall world turns toward death like a flower to the
sun.”–

i refuse
pretty metaphors

tell me why
there are
ten daffodils i see
for
every
trout lily

and i will
show you
scotch pines
growing
in olive gardens

tell me why
must some
unlearn
to
survive

while you
learn
to flourish

(quote from Greater Grandeur by Robinson Jeffers)

The Well-Known Academic

April 30, 2024 / Saikat / Leave a comment

(To CS/’20 PhD
This Marble Monument
Is Erected by the State)

He was found by the Department of Education to be
One against whom there was no official complaint
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he
was an academic,
For in everything he did he served the Intellectual Community
He always followed the scientific method of inquiry
But only when he was in classroom or in the laboratory
He held the proper opinions for the time of the year
When there was peace, he was for peace; when there was genocide, he
spoke of the liberal world order
He worked hard to close the ozone gap
But never uttered a word about the wealth gap
He always casts his vote for the lesser of the two evils
and he acknowledged that he was on stolen land
Was he privileged? Would he stand up for you? The question is absurd:
He was nice, and he was grateful, and that was all that mattered.

(A humble nod to W.H. Auden’s “The Unknown Citizen” in the current climate.)

Lower St. Regis

March 26, 2024March 27, 2024 / Saikat / Leave a comment

Lower St. Regis.

I work by this lake. Not too long ago, I used to live within walking distance of the lake.

Needless to say that it has been a source of profound joy to walk along the shoreline. By myself, often with my dog, and camera, sometimes with students and colleagues.

Here are some images made recently, during the Spring thaw. This time, more than any other period of the year, the lake is a dynamic, shape-shifting, animated being.

The end product is after all, just a product. But I hope it conveys the joy I felt in being at the shoreline. And if you are fortunate to have access to a water body, I hope you find the time to witness the periodic eccentricities of the seasons as well.

Breaking Up

Waiting

The Light That Breaks

Siblings For A Day

March of the Ice Stars

The Long Arm of the Sun

If There is Magic on the Planet…

Thoreau’s bookmark

Farewell to Winter

Tessellations in Time

February 3, 2024 / Saikat / Leave a comment

“If your Lordship should consider that these observations may disgust or scandalize the learned, I earnestly beg your Lordship to regard them as private and to publish or destroy them as your Lordship sees fit.” – Anton van Leeuwenhoek

van Leeuwenhoek was the first person to study microbial organisms from his local pond in great detail in the 17th century. He developed his own macro camera aka the compound microscope! He was the first person to witness the blood flow in capillaries. All chaste subjects! But his colleagues egged him on to venture beyond the prevailing ethics of the time. He finally came around to the idea and examined his own ejaculation.

Life is rife with speculations, but especially so during his time. Some theories suggested that tiny pre-formed humans were nestled inside the sperm cells. Even Leeuwenhoek himself was skeptical about the ‘blasphemous’ experiments. Hence, the above disclaimer while sending the results to the Royal Society. Remember Galileo. Remember Giordano Bruno.

But Leeuwenhoek was fortunate to be in good company. The same cannot be said of sperm cells. They have to fulfill their destiny in a foreign environment. While they do not have a pre-formed life, they do possess the precursors that can bring life in conjunction with their counterparts. Millions perish, but they need to be successful only once.

Twelve thousand years ago, I might have hoped to go for a nice swim in Death Valley and make a hearty meal out of some crustaceans, not too unlike the organisms studied by Leeuwenhoek. If I were observant enough now, I could have come across the chemical remnants of the species that once called this place a home. An abundance of moisture, and a low-lying basin with no outlet made for a flourishing environment in a sub-tropical climate. But the tide changes with time. A host of geological factors that led to increasingly arid climate choked the pluvial lakes on their own minerals. Now, on a clear and warm evening, I walk among the neat, geometrically energy-efficient alkali crust left behind from ages of desiccation.

And on rare years, as thunderstorms bring rain to the valley, I see the tessellations disappear in a salty slush. I see before me a memory of what once was.

The next morning, I hike up and away from the tessellated hexagons. With the elevation as my guide, the intricate patterns in the salt flat, the alluvial fans from the dried-up lake bed, the residuum of a plethora of species that was, the dirt and dust and mud in the this Land of Little Rain– all coalesced into a green oval spermatozoon.

A camouflage of biological life, waiting with the elements. For the tide to turn again. For the Tüpippüh to flourish once more.

(adapted from original writing in 2021)

Utah Over The Years (Part I)

December 16, 2023December 16, 2023 / Saikat / 1 Comment

If it was not for the Adirondack Mountains, I would have strived to make a living in Utah. Over the years, I have been fortunate to visit different parts of Utah. I am terribly lazy and scatter-brained when it comes to processing my photos; and now with multiple trips over the years, they are starting to pile up. This is an attempt to revisit the files in hard drives, recall some of my favourite memories, and process (in some cases re-process) the images. This is not an attempt to create a portfolio of the best images or categorize in any other way.

I believe that in order to truly understand a place, one must live there. And if creation is an expressive testament to that understanding, then my images fall vastly short. Having acknowledged that, I feel that I have tried my best to understand Utah as much as an outsider can- by coming back to the same place, in different seasons, and in the same seasons in different years, reading and learning about the place, and contemplating the works of different artists from the region. All of the above have helped me make some images that I would like to share in a chronological order for the sake of simplicity.

The first one titled Fremont Gold is from 2018. Due to difficult personal scenarios, many parts of this trip were miserable but this late December afternoon, shivering by the river, was a welcome respite from the misery.

This one titled Step Into the Light is from 2020. This was my fifth trip to Utah but the first time during the Fall season. It was my first solo visit to Utah as well which meant there was no fixed itinerary or time table, thus making it the best kind.

This image, titled Dance With Me, is my personal favourite from this trip. The easy access from the roadside pullout brought me such joy every time I drove past this grouping of trees in the subsequent years. Alas, this year, I found that some of the trees have fallen.

From the same trip in 2020 came this image titled Canyon Possessed. I cannot say how far images go but touching canyon walls in person is a strong, strange feeling, and something I look forward to on every visit.

It took me another two years to witness the glory of cottonwoods in Spring. Here is one from my first Spring visit in 2022 titled 9 AM Light.

Though I have driven through Cathedral Valley thrice before, I camped up there for the first time in 2022 for three days. Here is one image titled Idle Afternoons.

The next few images are from this summer of 2023. Part of the trip was solo and part of it was in the company of good friends and passionate photographers- Eric Erlenbusch (@lausivee) and Prajit Ravindran (@irockutah). All the following images were made while exploring some new (to us) locations with Eric and Prajit. Though ‘three is a crowd’, it did not feel like that for once. Both of them are eccentric and serious in their own ways and helped me learn by observing their approach to making images.

Afternoon Amble– one from our very slow, never tedious, walk in a canyon.

Varnish Drip– the varnish on this canyon almost resembles petroglyphs.

How Is This Possible?– this is what I was thinking (and possibly Eric too) as we came across this scene.

The Stars Below

The River Knows Its Way

The Light Fades

When the Clouds Move

To Be a Flower

Does It Ever Fade?

Bartering Hope for Meaning

September 7, 2023September 9, 2023 / Saikat / 1 Comment

Between the world with all of its offers, and slow mornings on the peat, the choice was always easy. I take Moose, the dog, for a short walk around the nearby wetland before I set up the camera, if at all. Usually, he romps about off leash when I am making images, oftentimes making interesting patterns in water (that I can possibly include in my image), or getting me curious about that flower he is sniffing. Being early in a “non- descript” wetland has its advantages of having no other bipeds to worry about. But no off leash running for him until his leg heals. After his walk, I put the leash around my ankle while I set up my tripod. Bad idea for sure! And yet, in all these weeks, he has not brought the tripod, and me, crashing down.

On my right, the pink sky is giving way to blood orange. Soon the mist will turn to vapours of gold. The tamaracks will briefly adorn this gold, pretending it is Fall, while the temperatures very well indicate mid summer. The labradorite landscape to the left starts to catch hints of these yellows, here and there, with no apparent rhyme or reason, guided by the whims of the sun playing truant with the fog. Not so long ago, there was just one lilypad, the first of the season, floating under the watchful eyes of bygone pines as water- bugs frolic. And now there is a whole family.

Edward Abbey said- “….in the desert, by the comparative sparsity of the flora and fauna: life not crowded upon life as in other places but scattered abroad in spareness and simplicity, with a generous gift of space for each herb and bush and tree, each stem of grass, so that the living organism stands out bold and brave and vivid against the lifeless sand and barren rock. The extreme clarity of the desert light is equaled by the extreme individuation of desert life-forms. Love flowers best in openness and freedom.”

Things are a little different here, in boreal country, with a holistic bounty of flora and fauna. With a generous gift of light and water for every lilypad and black spruce, each stem of the bladderworts, the living organism grows out of the sphagnum with dignity and grace. The extreme mist of the wetlands is equaled by the extreme fellowship of boreal life-forms. Love flowers best in love.

I hear the splash of a beaver. Of course, Moose has heard it. I grab the leash and start walking away before he makes a dash towards the beaver. A short distance away, there is a lady slipper, blushing with the mirth of the pre-dawn pinks. What are the odds of seeing a lady slipper in my life? A narrow range of soil and climate nourishes them; even when I made a journey of ten thousand miles to this place, it wasn’t until my ninth year of exploring that I first heard of this orchid. I could never have hoped or planned my life to meet a lady slipper. I had hoped for “bigger and better things” with my life, and for a good part of my life, planned and pursued them. But I am glad the smaller, meaningful things never went away. Sure enough, it did require a nudge every now and then from a book’s wisdom, a poet’s word, a hiker’s fatigue, and whatever the thing that whiskey does. Now that I have met this lady slipper, and that this is an important meeting, mere hope and planning do not suffice anymore.

Wendell Berry wrote-

“Let us see that, without hope, we still are well. Let hopelessness

shrink us to our proper size.

Without it we are half as large

as yesterday, and the world

is twice as large. My small

place grows immense as I walk

upon it without hope.”

This wetland too, grows immense as I walk upon it without hope. As night turns to day on this sphagnum, I stand in silence before the venous pitcher plant. I learn about the flowering leatherleaf, I quiver with the budding lady slippers, I rejoice with the geese, I spin with the water-bugs by the daunting lily pads. Between the shallow shoreline and the point where the water suddenly gives away to depth, amidst the swirling galaxy of shy pine cones and the bold pollens, the pickerel weeds quivering in the sunlight- a mass of yellow and green in the blue expanse, a dispatch from Spring, that I am reading on this warm summer morning. I come close to all that is holy, and unholy, as the light, ever so lightly, fills me from horizon to horizon.

I cannot stay here all day because there are lectures to be prepared, and assignments to be graded. I slowly walk back with Moose: he is dragging his feet while wagging his tail.While I know my day will be long, I know that I have enough sustenance. In the graveyard of my erstwhile hopes and dreams, I have gathered my meaning.

And this is what I have gathered this spring and summer- three trilliums, a swallowtail on a foam flower, one lady slipper (because you should not have too much of a good thing), a pitcher flower and three grass pink orchestrating a ballad of bladderworts and sundews, a million black flies so that I learn to value them all, three dragonflies to give me a brief respite from the black flies, a clump of rose pogonias around a budding tamarack, thirteen blooming water lilies, and two more at the cusp of a bloom (because you can never have too much of a good thing), seven bog candles, and a path lined with goldenrods.

Epilogue

April 22, 2023 / Saikat / Leave a comment

On this Earth Day, unlike many others- individuals to organizations, I have no agenda. Instead I would like to speak about April.

April is November in reverse. November withdraws, April approaches. While November is frightening, April can but merely be threatening. It was in April, six years back, when I made my first solo trip to the Adirondack mountains. Coming to this place without any friends, not just for fun, not for group hiking with a checklist, but just being there- helped convince me of the importance of not having any agenda. If love was to be truly loved, it was meant to be in this land in April. Now it has been two years, two Aprils, that I have been living on this land. And I wish to spend the rest of my Aprils in this land, bereft of agenda. And any good, which I always wish and strive for- for the land or anyone else, is merely a by-product of my actions.

* The following, follows from ‘Seeking November’ https://saikatchakra.wordpress.com/2023/01/15/seeking-november/

I waited for one infinity
-with my black dog⁴

Aji e probhat e rabir kar
Kemone poshilo praner por
Kemone poshilo guhar aadhare probhat-pakhir gaan
Na jani keno re eto din pore jagiya uthilo pran⁶

We are in the month of April. The light is strong, but the season is wrong.

I was waiting for the revolution to come down in sleet, another month for the blood to thicken- in the thin of things. Before I could summon the hatred necessary to inflict the necessary, the ice was out. As if that was not enough, the speckled alder budded. The fever broke. Pus oozed out of the maples.

I was older in November. I am younger in April.
I found ballads in all the places I came baying for blood.

We cannot know both the position and momentum of a subatomic particle with perfect accuracy.⁷

As I am being recklessly restored, a student comes and declares the bird they have met.

Wail wail wail tremolo yodel hoot wail wail
Not one she’s seen.
One bird she’s met.
One.

April is for greeting each one anew.

The first trillium
before the meadow takes over.
The first loon that serenades you
The last shard of ice that this lake offers to you.

And what must we do with this bounty?

This, you must learn, that April too has no value
For it was given to you,
And you must give it away.
The brown, passing through, makes space for the green.

References

Bloom by Emily Dickinson
The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot
O Me! O Life! by Walt Whitman
adapted from Mahabharata
adapted from The White Man’s Burden by Rudyard Kipling
Nirjhorer Swapnobhongo by Rabindranath Thakur
Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle

Revolution- expanded

April 16, 2023 / Saikat / Leave a comment

Remember me, I used to be a rebel,
soar the azure skies,
and climb the high tides
I have crossed the seven seas,
and the thirteen rivers.

Remember me, I used to live for new smells,
tread on fresh soils.
and play the fancy electrophones
I have searched the world,
and scourged myself.

Now I live for the old spices,
and the graying dog.
the boundaries have dissolved,
and I am ready for communion.

I throw the stick into the water. Moose, the dog, bolts past, making ripples.
I like to call them Moose ripples.

He brings it back.
I throw it again.
He brings it back.
I throw it yet again.

He does not tire.

All I can do is try-
keep up with him.

The eternal game continues-
each time with a different Moose ripple
in the space-time continuum.

They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
That is true of expectations. Not of repetition.

The eternal game continues-
every time a different Moose ripple.

I do not know why.

All I can leave you with is this –
I do not need to know why to understand it. I do not need to understand to feel it.
Above all, it does not need to mean anything to feel it.

Far too often, meaningful work, or the illusion of it, gets in the way of living.

I have barely started to live.

“Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” – Rumi

All I need to do is show up by the lake with a good stick.

I shall make the right image.
I shall invent the most useless words that you will understand.
And they will mean nothing.

Seeking November

January 15, 2023January 19, 2023 / Saikat / 1 Comment

To be a Flower, is profound Responsibility¹ – if that is true, then November is a land without law. I do not know if I am seeking November, or even if I would like it. But since it is here, all I can do is place myself in its path. Maybe seeking is, after all, about something not sought after.

They say that the winter snow is like a blanket of kindness that drapes the barren landscape. November, with odd snow days, does not try to even out its edges. Like a holly leaf near the bottom of the plants developing spikes, November dissuades grazers. The tourists dissipate; the locals hibernate until the snow is good enough for skiing. At this time, when nothing happens, where the land neither cares, nor cures, maybe it is easier to insert myself.

I remember the time my father lost a tire in a marsh, and went back the next morning to find it: an ordinary day in an ordinary country- of little liberty and ample beauty. Here I am now, in another ordinary country, on another ordinary November day, losing myself in a marsh- and finding it, next morning. I see the last dodo that refused to see fear in a handful of dust². I see Thomas Roe lowering his anchor in Surat. I see the dwindling lights of Samarkand, the burning ghats of Banaras. I see the retreat of the tundra, and the victory of the algae.

As a light snow falls on this November night- I think of the little rights remaining, and the ample beauty still left: where continuity stands in the way of liberation, it is inevitable that a pine sapling takes foothold in the murky memory of spruce and leatherleaf and tamaracks and rose pogonias.

If all is stardust, why should one be better than another?

It is in this great leveller of seasons – with no flowers to sanctify, no black flies to vilify; in the browning heath, and a slightly frosted sedge, the indecisive hardening of sphagnum, anxious footprints of a coyote in the sudden thaw-lines in a slowly freezing lake, the tanning of the grass by the water’s edge, the bare aspens, the barely clinging beech leaves, the grey November light, unimpeded by greenery, walking deeper into the blood- clotted landscape- that rights and kinship, sans ownership, sans privilege, is facilitated.

In this light, at this time of the year, I can read the landscape better. And contribute a verse³.

I wait for one infinity
in the cold and bleak.
-with my black dog⁴

It is amazing how easy that is to do.
The leaves go first.
and then the shade
and then the loons
and then the sunshine
finally, it is November.

Telling it like it is- without the rage of monsoon, or the softness
of autumn.
without the-
summer fruit, or the spring flowers;
when the snow is not yet deep, and there are no promises to keep.
November slips in
as if nothing ever happened.

I have been to the brothel of Autumn
and bartered beauty in maples
I saw your world,
and held your light-
until I plucked warm stars
out of the moonless November sky
and pinned them
to the tamaracks
I see you now. I see you now.
I walk in your shadow.

Here is the secret of the seasons-
where the river has died
and the black dog and I need to hide
there is not enough light.
there is not enough night.
-for all that is brown and living,
November offers nothing.

The first lover, and the last empire
had their share-
now it is time, for the brown lilypad
to summon you.
into this unholy peatland.
all night long, this November light
carries the Brown’s burden
The peaceful poems of the savage⁵

there is beauty in the aftermath of the war,
where the worst is over,
and the best is best–
kept at bay.
there, you can hold-
the empty purpose, just you
and the world-
ending the world.

and then I wait
for one more infinity
-with my black dog⁴