Vertigo: A Dramatic Monologue Poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri

Prologue

The facade of
the topmost floor
is smooth as glass.
The sheen has been wrought
by unlettered youth
precariously perched
on the bamboo scaffold
so narrow and ramshackle
that even six times wider
couldn’t have prevented me
from vertigo and a sure fall.

On the lath of the squeaky platform
(which they have erected level by level)
they bend and unbend
waltz and pirouette about
as they deftly wield
their trowels and chisels.
What a wiry skill they possess!

Creation and operation over,
they begin to dismantle it
with the same breathtaking ease.
Continuing to stand on the scaffold
and manoeuvring in that very little space
they snap knot after knot of the supporting poles
and the ones keeping the bamboos together too
and kick off bamboo after bamboo
from under their calloused feet
and push down the poles -
all the while, just balanced
on a single bamboo beam
with a funambulist’s skill, nay, even better than that
for they do it without a balancing pole in their hand.

Hanging in the air, they are so nonchalant,
But here on the solid ground
I turn giddy and fall.

Scene: 1

I buy the topmost flat
for a five million
and strut about
dreaming of my days ahead
comfortable, secure and cosy.

Scene: 2

I lavish a grand party
to the builder
and to the residents and the non-residents
who deluge me with polished greetings
and copious gifts
and accept my liberal returns.
So I begin to live there
with my life and property
amply insured
but not once recalling
the role played by
the dusty and sweated hands
of the weather-beaten workers
who ‘constructively’ risked
their lives - uninsured.

Scene: 3

That night I have a sound sleep
until I hear a thud and crying sound
only to see my teenage son
in a pool of blood
down on the ground
with his hands
and torn clothes
wet with mortar.
My son! Or the mason? !

I explode into a wall-blasting yell
and collapse
like a pole in a quake.

Scene: 4

I open my eyes
to the cool sprinkle
of refreshing water.
All my family have stood over me.
My eyes widen in disbelief
as he is gently smiling on me.
He is there in flesh and blood –
my selfsame son!
I am dazed
Everything is blind…

Scene: 5

Images are floating before me –
Heights… ramshackle scaffold…
bricks… cement…
lean and lanky boys
dabbing and patting the wall
with their trowels and chisels…

Epilogue

The young labourers are keyed
while my view of life is skewed.
They are sure and springy every inch and step
I fumble and falter at every foot and meter.

Of what avail my letters?
of what avail my jugglery of words?
of what avail my loony moony ways?
of what use is my Muse? -
except to build castles in the air.

They build and bond bricks far better
Than I put my words at all together
And much less mean and live them.

[Feb 24,2009: : Hyderabad - 500 056]