Verses or rhythmic lines have always taken birth in my mind fully formed, often early in the morning. In recent years, I have experienced multiple and simultaneous births. Weirdly, they are often in three different languages and in three unrelated themes. It happened this morning. This time around though, two of them, in English and Hindi, are thematically similar.
The first one was in English, followed by one in Gujarati and then concluded in Hindi/Urdu. Between 3 and 4 a.m. my mind is like a cauldron of bubbling soup where such lines erupt and descend, erupt and descend. The ones that fall outside the cauldron coalesce like lava and eventually settle into ideas and images.
The first one in English went like this: Night’s ink black water broke and delivered a golden, mauve dawn.
Incidentally, a painting representing this image also formed simultaneously. I will do it later today.
That was followed almost instantly by this one in Gujarati: હાંફળો ફાંફળો હું જાગ્યો સવારે, જાણે રાત ના કોઈ સ્વપ્ન થી ભાગતો ફરતો હોઉં (I awoke shaken this morning, As if I was dodging a bad dream)
And finally this one in Hindi: रातों की सियाही के समंदर से जो उभरी है, सुबह के केसरी माथे पर आज बारीक़ सुनेहरापन है (Risen from the ocean of nightly ink, Is an orange dawn draped in a fine golden hue). It might seem as the one in Hindi was the Hindi rendering of the one in English. Take my word when I say it was not when it arrived fully formed. They came almost within no time of each other. I had to write them down on a scrap of paper immediately.
It is hard for me to describe the precise nature of what one feels when one wakes up in a state of literary ferment as I so often do. At some level, there is relief and happiness but mostly it feels like belching out something primal. It is not entirely pleasant.