Ode to Huckleberry Finn

When I think of you, I think "river" and "raft" and "Injun Joe". Not for me the mollycoddling of this new "sivilized" edition. Give me your niggas and injuns and their associated truths; Indian Joe has no resonance.

On January 1st 2011 as we rowed a canoe on a lake, it was you who sprang to mind. You, Tom Sawyer and Enid Blyton were my Adyar-childhood heroes and I wouldn't change you for anything in the world. I have no grouse with Big Ears sharing his toadstool with Noddy, or with Fatty's "furriners". I have no grouse with the use of the word "nigga" 200 odd times.

The canoe we took out glided like silk, not stirring a ripple. Brutus the Boxer swam alongside, anxious that we  were leaving him out of the adventure.

In front of us, two pelicans sailed serenely and then lifted as we approached. And the waterlillies...

The night before Renu asked "What is your new year resolution?" and me, previously annoyed by schedules, deadlines, said "To conquer Time". Time never was so slow as on the lake. And you knew that Huck, which is why Aunt Sally's home, couldn't hold a candle to the river or setting out to the West, could it?

Remembering Shanthi's words about taking the dogs and some beers out to the lake every evening. Man, he's you! He's Huck Finn! We want to be you Huck, don't you see?! So to hell with the kill joys. We've got your back.

Rush singing Tom Sawyer?
"What you say about his company
Is what you say about society
Catch the mist, catch the myth
Catch the mystery, catch the drift

The world is, the world is
Love and Life are deep
Maybe as his skies are wide

Today's Tom Sawyer...

No, his mind is not for rent
To any God, or government..."

(No. 1 of 'Four Quartets')
T.S. Eliot


Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.

What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
                              But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.