BETWEEN SEVENTY AND SEVENTYFIVE – K. Satchidanandan

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There is a dark place between
Seventy and seventy five: broad
Like memory, deep like death.
Those trapped there have no return.
They roam about in the childhood bushes
Or fall headlong into the well of decrepitude.

Be warned if those between seventy and seventy five
Behave like the young: for, they are young.
They can love, can dance to music, and if need be
Even lead a war or a revolution. In fact
They are not dead, like most young are.

Those between seventy and seventy five
May suffer from delusions: at times they want
A horse-ride; at times want to fly above oceans and mountains
On the back of an eagle, wander along deserts
Looking for water that is not there, stand naked
In the rain, or read a poem no one has written yet. There
Are times when they feel history is retracing its step,
And feel like crying aloud, screaming, almost.

The solitude of those between seventy and seventy five

Is sepia, like some early morning dreams or
Like the friendships in old albums. When they
Laugh, sunlight retreats into village lanes.
Their sweat smells soft like sesame flowers.
Their walk is like the descending scale of saveri (1)
And their lilting speech is littered with gamakas (2)

You wonder, why, this is all about men. Yes,
Women do not pass at all between
Seventy and seventy five; invisible to us,
They just glide along on a tender rainbow of affection,
With the soft feet of fairies fragrant like heaven
And the smile of oleanders, an invitation to salvation.

Saveri : A raga in Karnatic music
Gamakas: embellishments done on a musical note

(Translated from Malayalam by the poet)

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