The Tazara

I am sitting here on a beach in Dar-es-Salaam, working on a school project with the lapping of the waves a rhythmic stimulant for rapidly evolving thoughts. However, should I need a break, a momentary thoughtful pause away from my laptop, there is another source of inspiration, distraction, sorry: a glowing sunrise from across the Indian Ocean!
For Simba school is soon forgotten and my camera tries to capture the full glory of Phobeus’ diurnal blessings upon us mere mortals. And as I try different angles, hoping innovation might make up for the limitations of my camera, the mind churns again and I recall how, when and why I got here far away from a Ndola that is somnambulantly getting through yet another August.
With a family steeped in the culture of the railways, albeit Indian, with a wife whose adventurousness is definitely not worthy of derailment by mere travel sickness, with a son who enjoys all forms of transport (but has a special affinity for Thomas the tank engine), with daily stimulants from the travel channel and with an innate spirit of intrepid adventure, Mr and Mrs and Master Renaux, accompanied by stand-by babysitter, Miss Renaux, decided to take the Tazara from Kapiri Mposhi to Dar-Es-Salaam.
My regular travel agent shrieked at my suggested itinerary, a former resident of Zambia gave me the thumbs down on Facebook and a present student suggested that I might be the only one on the train. Looking back, I smile at such universal misconception and disdain for Zambian infrastructure!
Yes, the toilets had no running water – even in first class, but there were staff at hand to ensure that there was always a bucketful around to do the job. In fact, our first class coupe – compartment on the Tazara – was spacious, clean and each berth was provided with two blankets, a sheet and a pillow. The mandatory bottle of mineral water that had been allocated to each berth did not pitch up, but that did not prevent us from sorting out or packed meals and readying ourselves for a long but comfortable journey. Yes, the train did shriek to halts and jerk to starts and it did give us some bouncy moments, but it also inspired little Calvin to come up with a ditty titled, “Bouncy, bouncy train.” It also offered us stunning views of undulating mountains and we even spotted giraffe, wildebeest, elephant and antelope as we chugged through the Selous game reserve in southern Tanzania. Yes, a forty-two hour journey eventually lasted forty-nine hours, thanks to a local strike in Mbeya, but we took that opportunity to chat to strangers from different corners of the world and to learn a bit of Swahili as well. The delay also meant I could digest another Safari or two before we entered the chaotic hustle and bustle of yet another commercial capital – and experience anarchy on the roads of Dar es Salaam.
But most of all the Tazara will also be an enjoyable memory because on it, we exchanged gifts and even ‘adorned’ our coupe on the occasion of our fourth wedding anniversary. And, no matter which corner of the world we might find ourselves many years from now, we can always say we had a truly interesting African adventure.

FAMILY INFORMED

A sheet of paper; a telephone call
Family informed.

Breaking news; MOD confirms
Family informed.

Anonymity uncovered; soldier named
Family informed.

One happy life ends, a sad one begins:
Family deformed.

An old room is emptied, a new grave now filled:
Family deformed.

A soul rests in peace; a parent, the spectre of torment:
Family deformed.

Family informed:
Casual: rather matter of fact, indeed.

Family deformed:
Reality: the fact of the matter, in deed!

MY HUMANITY

A time machine
You took me to another day, another age
Where I mingled with kings and rode into battle
A time and place where the sun beat down
On jungles as yet unspoilt by man.

A stamp on my passport
You allowed me entry to diverse countries
Where I could trek mountains pristine with snow
To lands remote and neighbouring where the moon rose
To an ambiance of delicious delights.

A chord on my conscience
You played tunes I had never before heard
While I grappled with feelings that you slowly stirred
As the music of humanity passed me by
While I stood alone in a crowd of faces

And held you in my band
- The anthology of a humanity I despise -

A tutor to my intellect
You explored the contours of my mind
While I analysed tenets that you dared me question
As the messages of past generations beckoned me
While I stood in museums that told the story of man

And pored over your bounty
- The treasury of a humanity I admire –


And held you in my hand
And pored over your bounty

As I enjoyed the vicarious pleasures that only you can offer

A book

To which I owe my humanity.

Success...Failure

SUCCESS…
…FAILURE

Failure is not the lack of success
Instead, it is the effort of trying
But of not getting there.

Success is not the lack of failure
Instead, it is the efforts of overcoming
Hurdles placed along the way

Failure in not the face of defeat
It is, instead, a battle against
An opponent who we have yet to better.

Success is not the visage of victory
It is, instead, a conflict against
An opponent we have managed to overcome.

Failure is not the depths of despair
It is, instead, a lesson that has
Yet to teach us the meaning of success.

Success is not the zenith of achievement
It is, instead, an education in
The trappings of failure.

Failure is not always a foundering fiasco
Just as
Success is not always a triumphant tale

For, contrary to popular belief
Failure isn’t the opposite of success
They are , in fact, two sides of the same coin

For they go together, hand in hand
Mates from whom we should learn

That the greatest success
Can take root
In abysmal failure

Companions from whom we should learn

That the greatest fall
Can plummet
From the pinnacle of success.

The Pillar

THE PILLAR

Weak,
You burst into tears

Fragile,
You break into pieces

Faltering,
You stumble along.

Tottering,
You trip over yourself.

Yet,
When it matters most

You
Remain upight

The pillar
On which this world

Stands:
You,

Sturdy and Unrelenting:
The Human Spirit

Education

Education does not begin when one opens a book; nor does it end when one closes a book. Education is not gained simply because one enters a school or university; nor is it lost because one does not enter such an institution. Education is not mere academic instruction; it is instead the development of one's social, emotional, physical and cultural maturity so that one is fit enough and efficient enough to answer questions asked by the world's biggest governor and examining board: LIFE.

For, if education meant going to school, man would not have discovered fire, he would not have invented the wheel,he never would have dabbled in farming; one generation would not have passed on its collective ethos to another and, most importantly, we would not be enjoying the lifestyles that we have become so accustomed to today.

(Inspired by a thread of conversation I happened to read on Facebook last night.)

A Three-Dimensional Canvas

When with my class on a long trip I went
To the Hot Springs of Kapishya where we spent
Hours of fun as we hiked and we rafted
And many witty stories were happily crafted

Either on hilltop, river or beside the lake
Or under the stars where we lay awake
Around a fire that blazed, blew and bristled
“And this is Zambia?” a newcomer whistled.

This young lad, of course, on many trips had been
Much of the bush and the veldt he had seen
And this remark was exhaled in a spirit of awe
For this was as good as anything he ever did or saw.

He hadn’t expected to have so much fun
Whether under the stars or the blazing sun
And had to admit it was the “best trip I’ve had
For Zambia is great, it is not at all bad.”

This remark immediately took me back into the past
To a moment that will, in my memory, always last
When a friend asked me, “What on earth will you do?”
In Zambia, a land most of us hardly knew.

Palms over the fire, I now quietly mused and thought
The world’s ignorance of the wealth this land has got
For in the five summers that I have, on trips, been
My admiration has grown with each new locale I’ve seen

Of course, most obvious, is the mighty smoke that thunders
Zambia’s greatest export, one of the world’s natural wonders
Yet, there is much more to Zambia than the Victoria Falls
There are miles of beautiful bush, animals, birds whose wake-up calls

Chirp through the bush, in its crisp and refreshing air
As into glowing sunrises, one can only “stand and stare”
For in this world, yes, we have just enough time
To admire the rhythm of nature, each tune, each rhyme

There is the Kafue National, country of the Big Five
Where diverse animals, in unspoilt wilderness, still do thrive
Or the Luangwa Valley, where the leopard lithely leaps
While you enjoy a walking safari, with an experience for keeps

I remember ‘raucous ruffians’ on a prefect training camp
As their days they would record near a fire or a lamp
While the mighty Zambezi, it foamed and it roared
And its ferocious inmates, calmly slept and snored

I recall walking through bush that towered over my head
And in the hills of Mutinondo, making my fire and bed
In the midst of which, many new friends I had made
As with banter and chatter, our way, we’d waddle and wade

Singing songs, as we would, our own music make
And on some deserted hillock take a much needed break
Making plans for the rest of the arduous hike
And prepare a bushman’s dinner in a spot we like

Far from its crowded cities, we would have so much fun
Be it climbing baobabs or fishing under the Kafue’s sun
And in such a milieu, I learnt more of each lass and lad
Than anything they could write on an examination pad

Yes, this is Zambia, a land profuse in natural treasure
Of valleys, hills, plains and parks in equal measure
Ready to offer the intrepid explorer or the traveller new
A three dimensional canvas in its most natural hue.

Quirkily Chaotic

To the world, it is a

City of crowds, teeming with hustle and bustle
In every nook, alley, corner and vicinity
There is frenzy as a pulsating herd of humanity
Swarms onto its streets to begin its daily jostle

In organized chaos, as commuters in confusion
Forge – through anarchy – order of some sort
Shouting rules that have thus carefully wrought
The city’s growth amidst a populous profusion

Of an offspring whose demands are hard to meet.

City of sound, arena to a concert of cacophony
Whose orchestra has managed just the right measure
So that its sundry ensemble can derive much pleasure
In the melodious jingle of diverse disharmony

As they sway to the tunes that daily resonate
From vehicles, humans and assorted creatures
Whose spectacular show quite often features
An echo that does each second reverberate

From an offspring whose music is hard to beat.

Personally, it is a

City of memories, embellished by decades three
A journey back into the past each time I visit
For I recall how, on the train to ‘Madras’ I’d sit
Excited, for in Moore Market, I could wander in glee

A son of the soil, with dreams of places far and wide.

City of camaraderie, of the many friendships made
Of the many lessons learnt, in school and in college
An education that has helped me across many a bridge
Since those days, with friends, on St Bede’s fields I played

A son of the soil, who learnt to take things in his stride.

City of youth, of its many, crowded buses and trains
On which, in carefree abandon, did teenage risk
A life full of energy, a life at pace that was brisk
A life whose only proof is that tiny scar that remains

On a son of the soil, who did with much danger ride

In this city that does on the Bay of Bengal lie
A city of history, the quirkily chaotic City of Chennai

A Centurion Speaks

Over one hundred years, here, have I stood
One hundred years which have been great and good
And though I am old, I am not yet frail
Instead, my heart beats: loud, hearty and hale

Numerous friends I have, since, come to know
And our friendships still continue to grow
For they recall me each time they do re-unite
And remember the days we spent, sunny and bright

On my part, I oft remember those cheery young lads
Their whims, their fancies, their ever-changing fads
But, as constant as the sea that massages my back
For cheery pranks, laughter and music I never do lack

With me, these young boys, did many lessons learn
In their achievements, my heart with pleasure does burn
And I continue to swell with such joy and pride
For I hear tales of their success from corners wide

Those days, I remember, when on the sunny sports field
In competitive combat many ‘weapons’ they would wield
So that their team could,its flag, fly vibrantly high
As earnest enthusiasts would, loud support, vigorously cry

My memory is indeed a glittering treasure chest
For I remember many a vibrant, cultural fest
Of debates, drama and quizzes that I still admire
Of music, songs and a band that played with fire

Over one hundred years, here, still I live
One hundred years, with much more to give
Earnest young lads the tools with which to rule
A world of ambition that begins, with me, their school

That continues to stand, here, on Santhome High Road
To provide future learners with a lovely, warm abode
So that, they will, in their actions, words and deeds
Be true ambassadors of me - their school - St Bede’s.

Shades of Immortality

Mortal:
With shades of immortality

We live on
By having been the people we are.

Mortal:
With shades of immortality

Our presence lingers
For having done the things we have.

Mortal:
With shades of immortality

We are remembered
In the tales our children tell theirs.

Mortal:
With shades of immortality

We are:

Humans who have made a difference!

The Casino of LIfe

You now move on to the playing fields of life
Where every move you make is – with risk –rife
Where change boasts of being the only constant
A terrible tyrant , fickle in a capricious instant.

And, in this game, chances you will have to take
For with them, fortunes you can make or break.
Either with a single, quick sleight of hand
Or with poker-faced patience, your cards command

At times you will have to go all out on a limb
Even though that streak of luck seems rather dim
For it seems better to give it all you’ve got
Than to simply sit and wait on naught

There will also be times when your luck rides high
And the prospect of success draws well on nigh
Go ahead, then, and give it all your very best
Play your cards right, not too close to your chest

At times high risk, will with great charm invite
You to share its rewards so sparkling bright
Then, remember your options to wisely weigh
So that you get the chance to play another day.

At times, you will have to on the table throw
And to wily opponents , your cards, show
For the game then demands some transparency
Tricks up your sleeve, for the world to see.

Show no fear, but all your worth bravely stake
On playing a move that will surely make
People admire your spirit, your dash and dare
At the courage you show when your luck is bare.

Yet, at times, you might, a rather poor hand play
And the next round seems dull, depressingly grey
Stop, reflect, – so that, this error you will not make
When you do, a brand new deck, quietly break

Laugh, smile, enjoy every game that you play
Energetically revel in every risk-fraught day
So that you can proudly exclaim with a final sigh
“I leave the casino of life with my fortune riding high. “

DICHOTOMY

It travels paths rarely ventured
A pioneer of exploration and discovery

Yet,

It retraces roads already taken
A curator of nostalgia and reminiscence


It traverses peaks of persuasion
An ardent believer in its ability

Yet,

It plods deserts of depression
A sceptic of existence and experience

It bridges diverse landscapes
A diplomat with sense and sensitivity

Yet,

It forges chasms of conflict
An envoy of odious malice.


It flies on the wings of liberation
A cartographer of new towns and cities

Yet,

It stagnates in the cesspool of decay
The plunderer of houses and humanity


For,

Its uniqueness
Is
Its dichotomy

The natural polarity
Of
The human mind.