Here’s the first of Arjun’s poems in English (apologies about losing the centre margin!) then in Scots. I loved the teasing relation between his shopping list of necessities and the short, oblique commentaries/asides/non sequiturs. This piece we performed as a sort of triple act where Arjun would read his English, I’d retort with the Scots, and Meena would interrupt with the Tamil.
To write, you need
to tell stories
or you might burst
paper, pen or a laptop
as if, it were an addiction
yoga
an eye for the bad
the good
and most importantly
the grey
murder
a love for words and
their cosmic dance
deceit
hurt, pain, loads of love
a passion for life
and everything it throws
at you
lies
a smile and a tear
a dark heart of gold
more yoga
a need to experience everything
once, twice, aw! all the time
mirchi pickle in mustard sauce
arrogance only if
coated in humility
papadams
meet aliens
at your doorstep
as if it happened
all the time
tight underwear
have sex atleast once
on the beach
to understand sand
been to a morgue lately?
fears: don’t forget them
little monsters you know
fairies, goblins, elves
chudails and their cousins
a friendly personality
essential: a schizophrenic existence
walk an imaginary pet
or friend in the park
conversations with self
are normal
the ability to talk to strangers
wax your legs
if you are a guy
hairy underarms
natural eyebrows
as a style statement
if you are not
pranayams: they ease the pain
an education
if you want to be a writer
none, if you are a storyteller
finally, get a muse
then nothing matters
*
Tae scrieve, ye need
tae tell tales
or bust
paper, laptop, pen
lyk a yen
yoga
an ee fur thi guid
thi bad
and abune aa
thi dreich
murdir
luve fur wurds
thir Siva shimmy
deceit
pangs, paiks, love in spades
passion fur life
that lobs at ye aathin
and uts wife
lehs
a grin and a greet
and a daurk gowd hert
mair yoga
need tae hae and dae aathin
aince, twice — ach, aa thi time
mirchi pickle in mustard sauce
cockiness anerly
in a coat of iver sae humble
uthapoms
meet ETs
in yir lobby
like ut happent
aa the time
ticht underpants
huv it away at least thi wance
oan thi strand
tae understand
sand
been tae a morgue lately?
dreids: dinnae furget them
wee monsters ye ken
brownies, banshees, selkies
kelpies and thir cousins
a freendly face
must have: schizo leanins
walk thi ghostie dug
bump intae absent fiends
blethers wi yirsel
ur thi done thing
an ability tae chat wi strangers
wax yir legs
gin ye’re a dude
hae hairy oxters
and furry eyebrows
fur fashion notes
gin ye’re no
pranayams tae ease thi pain
waant tae be a writer
get an education
want tae tell stories
get lost
last thing, get yirsel a muse
then ye can drap aathin
Dubious Saints 
..the next time we read this we should do it as a vaudeville act. or maybe as clowns battering each other.
I’m all for clown-battering. There would seem to be a short slapsticky film in this: beach, brolly, pickles, shaving off our eyebrows – all in sepia. It’d be great!/dumb…[delete as applicable]