Forever Yours and other Poems
Swati Pal
Hawakal Publishers Private Limited, 2024
PP 64
Price INR 300
USD 13. 99
ISBN: 978-81-19858-62-0
Swati Pal is a major name in contemporary poetry in English, who has authored several books on theatre, creative and academic writing. This emotionally charged, small, sleek book is an honest exploration of love; a heart-wrenching scream erupting from the heart of a bereaved mother.
In her cover blurb, Prof. Malashri Lal says:
“Swati Pal’s Forever Yours and other poems holds ajar that mysterious door to the panorama of a mother’s love, loss, grief and hope. Her poems will resonate beyond her individual story.”
To me, the entire book is a poetic teardrop, encapsulating myriad poetic droplets, brimming with a raw vulnerability and overwhelming pain; a tearing agony that rips her apart, and also the readers.
In the poignantly raw preface, the poet, Swati Pal, says:
“there has been a terrible scream inside my head, my heart and my being.
A scream that I try to put into words. And fail.”p 9
Everything that she does, is for Mohan- her “darling Mohan.”
“Love rages. Love screams.
Love makes you walk, no matter that your heart is in smithereens and your soul tattered”
“Seeking. Seeking what, I do not know.”
But, the readers know.
They know how the poet, the mother, the writer tries to cross the shoreline, hugging the pain close to her heart, putting a smile on her face, and jumping over boulders, and hurdles, tears hidden behind a fragile façade.
I have keenly observed the poet, mother, and academic, showering the abundant love that her heart is brimming with, on her students, friends and staff of Janaki Devi Memorial College, where she is the much- loved Principal.
Every morning she gets up, puts the pieces of her life together, muffles her pain, hides it behind love- laced smiles and walks on.
Into the maelstrom of another day-the very embodiment of strength, courage, grit and determination.
“Shakespeare said-
beware the Ides of march
I died in June.” P 62
It was on 11 June, 2019, that she lost the center of her universe, her beloved son Divakar, affectionately called Mohan and Moh- Her knight in shining armor.
Her world changed from that day, and dazedly, the mother, called out to her son:
“Under the ocean
High in the sky,
where are you my boy?” p 59“
“Hear me, see me, feel me,
I am without you
I am within you
Forever and always
Your Diva, Mohan [Mohan Whispered to Me P 52]
“the latch on the gate
makes my heart go upside down
the key to my locked hope.” P 64
She sees him twinkling from photo albums, working on projects, glimpses his silhouette at the gate, at movie halls, and at the airport. Her heart falters as old memories visit her, knifing the soul.
She misses Moh, every moment.
“when the trees
strum and hum
Merrily in the breeze,
And every blade of grass
Seems ready to dance
And prance
Swaying this way and that
I miss you”.
“You don’t have to
go to prison
To be incarcerated.” [Incarcerated P 41]
She talks of a ‘Sneaky ole Feller,’ P 28, who just creeps in at all hours.
It’s a catch in the breath, a lump in the throat, a faster heartbeat, remorse, and anguish.
“it’s the ache
At the back
of your eyes”,
- and it leaves you ‘gobsmacked’.
“Love aches. Love howls. Love grows despite the distance. Love rages. Love screams.”P 8
As I read poem after poem, I pictured her sitting by the window, listening to the raindrops as they whispered a much loved name, perpetually lingering in the air. I imagined her reading esoteric messages in the hush that followed the rain. In the presence of his absence, she aches, and aches badly. But then with a resolute shake of her head, she plods forth to meet the vast world head on, his perfume clinging to her, like an old melody- never forgotten.
Always a part of her. A part of the universe.
As she says in the Preface and Acknowledgements, “Love makes you walk, no matter that your heart is in smithereens, and your soul tattered. Love can make you feel crippled, yet give you the strength to stand up.”
So, the resilient mother stands up, adjusts her lips in a smile.
And walks on.
He is always there with her – In the maddening tumult, the inner chaos, and the restless breathing.
A smile lights up her entire being.
His smile.
As night falls, and silence embraces the surroundings, her soul kneels in reverence to that silence, which encapsulates those lost precious moments, those cherished memories, that voice, that hush, that laughter, and those jokes. And she murmurs, tracing the contours of that precious face:
“Till the end of time
I will be
Forever yours
My darling” [Forever yours P 13].
We find her gravitating towards those silences. Those silences which were once a happy tumult.
The silence talks to her, telling her that her precious son Mohan, Moh, is very much around. He is the morning breeze touching her silently.
The lost lyric that the birds sing soulfully, at dawn. The fragrant scent wafting into her room, early morn.
The sunray tickling her awake, dissipating the gloom.
And the moon stringing fresh notes together to serenade her.
The clear blue skies, the cottony clouds, the dancing and prancing blades of grass, the trees strumming in the breeze, trying to heal a splintered melody.
Mohan magically shines through every miracle of nature. She feels that love transcends time. Love grows despite the distance. Love evolves beyond form.
She muffles her pain, hides it behind affection – laced smiles.
And walks on.
Pouring her emotions in this book must have been cathartic for her; the poems helping her explore the intensity of her feelings.
And maybe find some healing and renewal.
Somehow, the book reminds me of Charles Bukowski’s poem “There is a bluebird in my heart.”
“there is a blue bird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
I only let him out at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
then I put him back,
he’s singing a little
in there…
and we sleep together like
that”
Charles Bukowski’s Blue Bird keeps singing inside her. We find her talking to him, confiding in him, whispering her dreams, her achievements to him, and discussing inane matters, like the weather, the traffic, the government, and holidays.
As she says,
“Let us talk
Without hearing
Without heeding,
Lets’ crowd the empty silence” [Let us Talk, p 45]
And the silence is crowded with overwhelming love – a love of a mother for her only son Mohan, so palpably touching that even the nocturnal birds stop their banter and listen.
While they talk endlessly into the night.
ABOUT THE REVIEWER
The author is an academician, poet, essayist, novelist, and TEDx speaker, with more than twenty published books to her credit.
