Ravichandra P Chittampalli

Ravichandra P Chittampalli, was formerly Chair, Department of English, University of Mysore. He was Northrop Frye Fellow, University of Toronto; President, Indian Association for Canadian Studies. He was twice Shastri Fellow.
The Sunday Mail, Lakeview, Annual Shakespeare, Otherwise Engaged, Aurora and Blossoms, Aloe, Dreich, Dillydoun Review, In Parentheses, Havik, Viewless Wings, Kind Writers, Naugatuk River Review, Inlandia Literary Journal and Mayari Literature have published his poems. Some of his poems and a translation of a Kannada novel are taught at graduate courses of the Karnataka State Open University, Mysore.
He presently lives in Malaysia.

A Winter Measure

When I sat down by the road
The baboon walked along the lip
Of the ravine, and the bharal
Grazed nonchalantly above the rocks.
When I sat down tired on the road
The clouds kissed the snowy mountains,
While the sun blushed along the crags
Flying upon the wings of a magpie.
When I caught up with the hastening ridge
The glacier stopped moving its muscle,
While the Hedysarum mocked crimson
And the chough called me names.
When I stood against the sky
The world around went still,
The wind died in the throat of the vale,
As the little snowball rolled lazily down.
When I stepped off at last
Fair Beard marched up,
Leaving frosty prints everywhere,
As the ice cracked around the ferrule.

—Ravichandra P Chittampalli
(24 December 2017)

Evening at Tonle-Sap.

The river’s muddy waters
Snake into Lake Tonle-Sap
On whose seemingly still waters
Float the sweltering villages.
The Church, the charity home
The shops, the vegetable retail
All list gently under the slow sway
As the day behind the clouds advances
To meet his ever-fleet-footed consort, night.
As the last drops of the sun are squeezed
Gently down the throat of the indolent
Crocodiles lying open-mouthed on the floor
The gleaming rays pierce the earthy waters
And dismember each drop into fair limbs.
The apsaras of Tonle-Sap cavorting, catch
The voyeur sun in their long black tresses.
The golden leaves smear the green
As a toddler stands steady on the boat
With her mother, an apsara drying her hair
Waving at the visitor tied to the mast.

— Ravichandra P Chittampalli
(2 June 2017) camp : Siem- Reap.

That Day I Went Looking for God

That day I went looking for God
And found him feeding on the carcass
Of the living who walked with dead eyes.
When I pulled on his shoulders to ask
Where he had been all these days,
He lifted his blood-drenched face and said,
“I was in exile on the boot hill abandoned
By your dead ancestors, who had all flown
To the hearths and shrines everywhere.”
I took him to task in disbelief, ” But they are temples
And marble shrines we built for you at great cost!”
He then replied, “None recognised me
In those mansions when I arrived.
They thought I was not dressed for the role.”
It was then that I learnt that Gods too were attired
And grew scared of my utter nudity.
—Ravichandra P Chittampalli
(2/8/2017)

A Certain Sense of Togetherness

A certain sense of togetherness
Makes me brush my fingers
Against the tail of your shirt
As we walk together on pavements
Or glance occasionally at your profile
As we drive home or to some place.
You shackle me, a willing prisoner,
with those strings of speech
Stronger than any metal known to man,
In that low-toned conversation
You make as though scared
Of disturbing the flow of air.
Though I have never heard you laugh
The faint smile that fleets upon
Your face almost makes me clown.
Yet, in anger when you stop
Ever so briefly addressing me
I feel like having transgressed
All bounds of known civility.
In those hours of your absence
When I sit alone in our room
And think of you elsewhere
A certain sense of your presence
Slowly swamps my sight.
It is then that I look upon
Those little things, a comb,
A coffee mug, a handbag on the peg,
And divine what fortune means.
—Ravichandra P Chittampalli
(4/10/2017)