Poetry CornerThe ancient mariner – 2005 [Archives:2005/842/Education]

Dr. Arunachalam
Assoc Prof of English
Hadhramout University of Science & Technology,
Seiyun
The Ancient Mariner)

That's how he has embedded

An image of himself in my psyche.

He fits Coleridge's archetype exactly.

Once he sets his eye on you

You're under a spell.

Gifted with the glib of the gab

He bulldozes his poor listeners

As a person humble and soft though.

The only Yemeni I've had the fortune (?)

Of knowing (half-knowing) who speaks

English like as it should be.

Twisting his mouth, poor mouth,

Sliding the jaw to the right

Twirling the lips, biting the upper,

He lisps his words with an accent

That is heavily American.

Hassan Al Aidaross in full suit

Will humble the English and

the Americans as well.

The Ancient Mariner called me

In my mobile a Thursday forenoon

While I was in my shower.

Said, “Can I drop in?”

“Why not? By all means,” said I.

Never thought he would ring my door bell

At such a short notice that I was just

Stepping out of my shower as a just born.

Hurried he me into my safari suit

Hurled me into a taxi he came by

And held the door open for my

Royal Highness (!) at a Yemeni

Wedding around noon.

Supposedly the wedding of a

Rich and noted family of his small town.

Uninvited but escorted in

Full honours (I cheat myself).

The bride's father was called.

Though caught unawares, with all humility (?!)

He hugged me, clicking a kiss

Once on my left and twice on my right,

“Salaam Alaikkum.”

“Wa Alaikkum Assalaam.”

Hassan, the bride's father, and

Hassan, our Ancient mariner,

Presented me to an assortment

Of local tribal chieftains:

Some looking formidable

In traditional dress, head-gear,

Totting AK-47s, Zambias, etc.

Some with daggers in their eyes

Quizzical about what warranted

The presence of a non-Muslim,

Non-Arab fry in the midst of a

Yemeni wedding gathering.

It didn't take much time

The ice thawed (not in the heat of the clime)

Momentarily (momentously, for me).

Every face beamed with warmth,

Friendliness, affection and welcome.

Tshai Ahmer did the rounds

In conjunction with pleasantries

And concerned enquiries about

This alien's life in Seiyoon.

A short while hence, there was

Music in the air)the traditional

Yemeni music of small hand-held

Drums and miniature flutes.

Electrified, the young and old

Alike scurried to a shamiana

Especially put up in the open.

Dancing was in full swing;

At measured pace,

Like the Greek chorus,

Moving forth and back,

Back and forth,

Left to right, right to left

Swinging the hips,

Throwing the arms up in the air)

Gently, gently, all too gently

To the accompaniment of music.

Young and old held the groom

By his hands to his left and right

Swung him forth and back and sideways too.

What met your eye in the dance, song and music

Was the unbelievable: THERE WERE WOMEN)

TWO)one may be forty, another, may be fifty)

Aidaross lied to me: one twenty, the other forty.

He was unhappy, a little angry too:

Women in the company of men,

That too, dancing?! “Anti-Islam, anti-Arab.”

I consoled: “Times are changing

People and customs in tune with the times.”

He looked sad, pensive,

Contemplative Just for a while.

I couldn't believe. A change.

All too suddenly came over that man.

Himself he forgot. Entered the fray

Holding a 500 atop drawing the currency

Along the forehead of the column of dancers

And showered it on the woman)

The twenty (I'm sure she was forty).

On and on, it went on.

Suddenly some chaps held me by my arms

And pulled me into the gentle whirl

And made a participant of me, too.

Around two o'clock the scene shifted to the

Inner hall where only the male music party

Played the music to the accompaniment of

Dancing – you won't believe,

The tribal chieftains – all very old, glum,

And serious looking – made ritual moves,

Sqatting, rising, swirling, swaying -ever

So gently and dignifiedly –

There must be some meaning behind

These ritual movements. I couldn't make out.

I was lost like Wordsworth

On the Scottish Highland.

Will anyone tell me what it all meant?

Time for much-awaited luncheon came

With large circular tin aluminium plates

With mounds of biriyani,

big, big chops of tender lamb.

Fruit and tshai. Haya Khalla.

What a feast! A feast to chew

And chew in memory for long.

Lip-smacking and mouth-watering.

Al Hamdulillah.

Crowds and crowds poured in

In the evening. Cars, cars, pick-ups

Of all brands and sorts, the highway

Was spilling automobiles.

The open maidan, fully carpeted

To cover the dusty, sandy earth

Was swelling with

Swarms and swarms of guests.

The groom) a hefty, well-built,

Amiable, genial, jovial guy)

Was found going rounds

Greeting, welcoming one and all.

At nine in the evening started again

Singing and dancing. This time

It is a professional orchestra

Brought especially from Mukalla:

A rich industrialist, you see,

Loved and well-respected in his locale.

Amidst fire-works, the melody wafted

Around filling the spacious void.

The audience began swinging heads

And tapping feet.

When it all ended? I didn't stay long.

The next day, my dear, sorry, our dear

Ancient Mariner, our English speaking

Yemeni, told me that the wedding

Was solemnized around two in the morning

With the bride and the groom guided into

The nuptial chamber by the kin.

The veil of male-female separation

And the curtain of customs

Curtained me off many an aspect

Of a Yemeni marriage.

And I know it is improper

And impudent to try to pierce

The black veil that shrouds in mystery

Many aspects of Yemeni life.

It's a way of life

Cherished aeons since.

Let past traditions hold sway

Even amidst modernity!

Long live the Yemenies!

Long live their culture!

Long live their warmth for foreigners!

21/03/05, Seiyoon
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