POET PROFILE: NAMRATHA VARADHARAJAN

Biography:

Namratha Varadharajan stumbled into the magical rabbit hole of writing when she paused her career in engineering to indulge in motherhood. Four years ago, she started a blog to explore a course in digital marketing. Instead, she fell in love with words, particularly poetry. She writes poems that explore human emotions and relationships, our interconnectedness with nature and tries to chip at the prejudices that plague us, one syllable at a time. She enjoys experimentation with forms and a cup full of imagery but hesitates at rhyme. Some of her favourite poets include e.e.Cummings, Maya Angelou, Kamala Das and Mary Oliver. She is currently exploring ways to create a wider impact through her words. When she is not writing, she enjoys dancing, a good book and a cup of hot tea with ginger and two spoons of sugar.

Her poems and short stories have been published(or upcoming) in various anthologies including 'Indian Summer in Verses' by Plethora Blogazine, 'Tea with a Drop of Honey' by the Hive, 'Rewind' by Room 9 publications, 'Route 13' and 'The Women That I Am'. Her work has also found a place in online magazines like 'Sharing Stories', 'Women's Web' and 'Beyond The Box'.

She lives in Bangalore with her husband and two sons.

Namratha Varadharajan

Poems:

This poem is inspired by the series of paintings titled “Green Fish in the Green Water” by Devan Madangarly

 

Artworks by Devan Madangarly

The hug of the green

As the wind spells spring and evening births the night,

a doe-eyed boy with skin the hue of fertile soil,

returns from the toils and expectations of life

to sit for a while by the pond in his yard

washing away the day and grime

and dives into the realm of possibilities

to float for a time. 

 

He tastes the emerald water with his big toe 

as a thought bubbles up on his brow

'Do my fingers dare to mirror life on paper

and then bring that muse to life?'

 

Hands and knees, he is keen to see all there is to see and feel-

the curvature of each scale to the depth of each eye,

he records them all in his inner eye and then they flow from his mind,

through his fingers, through the colours and on to the paper.

 

Without further ado, the fish he drew draws breath

and springs from the paper, 

home, 

home into the green water.

 

The boy puts forth his request to the fish with folded hands-

“O, green fish in green water, lend me your fins

flowing as one with the stream

I shall satiate my need 

to feel the hug of the green.

Green fish in green water, lend me your fins.”

 

“There is a depth to this pond, there is enough for all,

the invitation was always open, you can find yourself here,

in this green, in this water, immerse”, say the fish.

 

He lets himself slide into the water and it cuddles him.

The fish swirl around him in an embrace and welcome him.

“I stand here, statued and still,

how still is still enough for nature to come to me, come in?”

In the dungeons, they smelled unicorns

 

[Scene: A bleak era. The future looks hazy. Outside a pandemic rages. A lockdown might spell disaster and death faster than any virus could. So, we close our doors tightly, shower in 70% alcohol, blast music to drown the manufactured news, and unfriend those who point fingers and spit hatred. Enter.]

 

(1)

There is no bubble to hide in

other than the one in your head.

Here, grow some rainbows.

 

(2)

Are we made of Spider silk?

The internal maze leads to the discovery of ultimate tensile strength.

Harder work, lesser sleep, greater stress-feeders, fluctuating hormones, etc…

Still, unbroken.

 

(3)

In the darkness,

a flurry of swallowed words-

unspoken but written.

 

(4)

Joy was encountered in my pockets.

Contentment that comes with learning something new

and doing it well,

is a guest here.

 

Apathy and empathy have occupied the floor

without making a prior reservation.

 

And, at an unidentified point in this space-time,

the confinement, the distancing stopped being a cage.

It started to shape-shift into a protective cover,

like the nets put on fruit trees,

inside which there is still room for us to grow, to ripen.

 

Grow, ripen.

 

(5)

The heart must have wished for eyesight to see beauty in every stone.

For, when we get to sneak-a-peak at the world outside through pinhole windows-

every ray of sunlight that falls on my brown skin, warms me

every drop of rain that falls on my unwashed hair, feels like a blessing.

The fleeting hues of a boundless sky

 

Dawn emerges from a bath of honey vapour 

Picks up an attire of snooze, mist, smog or laughter

 

Pin a fresh sunflower on her unbounded tresses 

Warmth floods, invigorates, scorches   

 

Blinding white or rainbow-flavour

she prances with happiness and fervour

 

Twilight drinks deep from a cup of amber

with swirls of wine, tangerine, grape and silver

 

Anger dwells like the bolt of lightning

beneath the surface of velvety night skies

 

Ink blots across her open page, smudges

the edges of her memories and thoughts

 

The clouds- cirrus, nimbus, pregnant, and ice

they gather, pass, weep, hail or storm

then, all at once, she is emptied. A clear atmosphere.

 

And in the deep blissful black of way past midnight, 

we shall cuddle and she shall at last pause for a while.

 

My mind is an endless sky of blank canvas

Painted, repainted by every view and cry.

 

[death could lie flat and rigid, if it so desires]

 

death could lie flat and rigid, if it so desires

life cannot breathe without whirlwinds u-turns upheavals

shall we share a kayak on the rapids of lust and betrayal-

single paddle through guilt-oceans sans painkillers forbidden?

shall we tether on the edges of insanity, while plummeting

into the throes of love with-held, vanquished, reassigned, dangled?

O dear grief-

(it dawns on me that i drink tea with the future dead and me)

save me a choice rock on your jagged shores, for like death,

have you everever never visited one or made anyone feel left out?

i shall wait(come in your own sweetsweet time), i shall dip

my feet or more and let each wave of you wash over me, and

retreat, wash and retreat, you shall retreat, and I shall go on (for more).

hunger, thirst, come cradle me, come

welcome high-lowhigh-low love!

welcome pain! all guests, nothing shall stay.

my soul shall feed(my words shall rhyme) on all of these, on all of thee.

Life, life is not life, if it is straightplain and plainstraight.

On the other shore

 

As we drift towards the other shore/ if indeed there is another shore/ or will we drift forever along these waters/ if indeed these are waters / not toxic sludge or swirling quicksand or a stagnant well breeding lies-

I am afraid that we might leave behind a few or someone dear/ (there are so many dying but we are still not making it any better) / or we might be the ones left behind / or we might crawl out with bruises and scars by the battering of the tide

But, I am more afraid that we shall reach another shore

with the same pair of eyes that sees women as circles and holes
wearing the same glasses that filter dark skin as unworthy and low
that shame bodies for their length and breadth and height
that is filled to the brim with the drama within and fails to see the light outside

 

with the same ears that cannot hear when a woman or man or child says No

with the same fingers that invade another's body where they are not welcome, No

with the same skin that names another untouchable, ravishes and destroys their women though named untouchable 

with the same hands that enclose torches to burn witches because they love each other

with the same tongues that abuse men by swearing about their mothers and sisters

with the same knees that kneel on a neck

with the same mind that blames one for their own rape,
that she shall continue to be snuffed before her first breath,
that she shall continue to stay caged,
that she shall continue to get raped,
inside doors, outside doors

with the same voices that echo gossip and swallow truths

with the same mouths that shall continue to mouth 'all is well'
as long as it is happening to someone else,
that wears zips and locks
and hands that stay down. 

Yeah/ I am more afraid that we shall make it across/ we shall reach another shore /and everything will look exactly the same/ just more of the same/ no change / a circle back to where we were before.

Namratha Varadharajan is paired with Devan Madangarly. To see rest of his paintings and read more, visit Devan Madangarly.

Poet Statement:

The poems for this exhibition have been chosen to ignite a varied set of conversations in the minds of the readers.

The poem “The hug of the green” is written in a narrative style and tries to portray the soothing balm that nature can be for us, if we let her in. This poem is inspired by the series of paintings by Devan Madangarly titled “Green Fish in the Green Water” and tries to imbibe the calm strength of the paintings while painting a story.

The poem “In the dungeons, they smelled unicorns” tries to showcase the beauty, the learning, the positive experience that this time of quarantine and confinement could be, if only we wish to see it that way.

My connection to nature during these last few months has predominantly been the sky that I can see through my window. Also, it has been a period of great waves in my mind. “The fleeting hues of a boundless sky” is a comparison between the ever-changing colours of the mind, which changes faster than the moods of the endless sky.

Death is scary, but inevitable. So is grief. But, when I found myself constantly worrying about it, [death could lie flat and rigid, if it so desires] was my way of facing it and working through it, in the only way I know- through my words.

We are all adrift at sea with no shore in sight. That is our current plight since the virus has come into our lives. But, what are we most afraid of? Losing loved ones, not reaching the other shore safely, or something entirely different. “On the other shore” is my poem of protest, is my wake-up call, to raise the question of where we are heading, and take it upon ourselves to steer the world towards a better shore.

I hope my poems ignite a thought, an idea, or an emotion in you.

 

 

You can reach Namratha Varadharajan at:

Blog: NamySaysSo.

Instagram handle: @namrathavaradharajan

Email address: namy188@gmail.com

Art & Poem

Vision & Concept by Deepa Gopal

Video by Anoushka Sunil

Intro clip and thumbnail- Vibhin P C

Introduction 

Video edit by Anoushka Sunil

Intro clip and thumbnail- Vibhin P C

CURATOR'S TIDBITS:

I remember Devan Sir inviting me to Ahalia Heritage Village in Palakkad (my home town) and showing me around when I wanted to write about the idyllic place on my blog that very few people knew of. He was generous and that stayed with me. An amazing person, he is a self-taught artist who follows the nuances of miniature tradition on both large and small-scale formats. He is a biker too; once when I was travelling from Shoranur to Palakkad, I came across a billboard with Sir posing in front of his bike in an advertisement!! The very first time I read Namratha’s poem, I had gooseflesh and I kept returning to NamySaysSo, her blog, to re-read. Namratha is a mixture of sweet and intense, soft-spoken, every word she speaks is so precise, legible and clear. I hear she is quite a dancer too!! I love the details into which she moves with such ease in her poetry. It’s subtle and refined and a lot relatable. Her poems play with the nuances of observation and she firmly possesses that skill which matches excellently with Sir’s analysis of his ‘world’ and experimentation.