Sohan Prabhakar Modak

Splinters Sohan Prabhakar Modak

Some individuals react creatively only when the thunderstorm of uncertainty hits hard, others are always in a passive mode chugging along creating through trial and error. Then there is a the case of busybodies who wink once in a while, sometimes when the clouds appear, dissipate or find themselves enjoying the rare luxury of experiencing their mind emptied of the then preoccupation and drop like balloon into wordy phantagoric dance trivializing all other motor neurons with sensations cascading into poetry, songs, lyrics and what not, leaving behind the tickle, itching sensation, imploding as an on-demand hurt and explode. Facing constant rivalry among splinters pinpricking to learn how embryos grow, how DNA shoots out messages, how to talk about it and do it such, Sohan gets into the fit of writing prose or poetry, quite a counter to the tedious, precise and meaningful science texts. When that happens, Splinters come alive, shooting darts, sometimes blinding hot, sometimes dainty as cauliflower crackle, all playing mind games over six decades and asking for more!. Inflammation causes pain but it often flummoxes the psyche into asking for more, not for the drivel but with disdain for pain and pleasure for wordy duels starring cognitive forgetfulness damning the pomp with a pristine smile, and fingers like feathers clasping the flutter of petals painting the drift across the looks and likes of splinters itched with the desire for togetherness, poking for the perfume of love enshrined in the colours of yesteryears! Splinters like shreds of sparkling water splashing from Le Jet d'Eau to craft a hero's welcome to the intruder while the Demon mocks and the Fairy retorts. The journey through splinters has been that of the passion in the midst of the plasmatic fire for dismantling the myths while aiming for the boards but crashing on the beams. With nearly a hundred scientific texts, the prose and poetry has rivalled equally as if the efforts to reveal the real is compensated by the wayward travels in the dreamland of fantasy in English, Marathi, and French! Splinters have embedded in the cerebellar trees topsy-turvy and brought me down stripping, teasing and peeling off the layers of the desire that he seeks to give away while seeking alms of pleasure. Some journey must it have been! Hopefully the readers will enjoy being distracted while seeking parsimony! And, behold, Francis Perret has summed it all in his painting gtremoring the cover page.