Here in Tiruvannamalai I am renting an apartment in a large house. The house has an outside staircase and under the staircase is a cupboard with an unappealing metal door. The cupboard is completely enclosed by the concrete structure, without a window and with no light or electricity. In fact, it is nothing but a small, bare, enclosed concrete space. Nevertheless, a man lives in the cupboard. He wears the faded orange garb of a sadhu, one of the holy men who can be seen loitering, peacefully, all over India. They have almost no possessions, they don’t bother with money, they beg for whatever they need in life. It is a simple way to be. And for the most part, these sadhus seem to be content with their low-carbon-footprint lifestyle. It does make one wonder why we bother with all the complex stuff.
Seeing this sadhu’s humble abode, I was reminded of a poem which came to me in Canmore, Canada, in 2002. (You can also listen to me reading the poem, from the readings page, accessible from the audio page.) Here it is:
The Cupboard Under The Stairs
It was a curious gift,
but of no use to me.
So I put it in a box,
a shoebox tied with string.
And the box I stowed
in the cupboard under the stairs.
There it sat
as the years went by.
Junk piled up around it
and dust settled thick.
Thus was it forgotten.
...
tap tap tap
coming from the cupboard under the stairs
I first heard it after the party
as the music died;
But I was tired
and sleep beckoned.
tap tap tap
coming from the cupboard under the stairs
The next morning, over breakfast,
there it was again;
But I was expected
in at the office.
tap tap tap
coming from the cupboard under the stairs
It was there as I drank tea
after work that day;
But the shops would soon be shut
and I had things to buy.
tap tap tap
coming from the cupboard under the stairs
Again I heard it
as I dropped my bags in the hall;
But I was in a rush,
the movie was due to start.
tap tap tap
coming from the cupboard under the stairs
Still it knocked
when I returned that night;
But with me was a woman
warmed ready for the bed.
tap tap tap
coming from the cupboard under the stairs
Summer passed and things changed.
My bed grew cold
and the cinema closed.
The job disappeared
and the stores became barren.
But all the while
tap tap tap
coming from the cupboard under the stairs.
Then the bailiffs paid a visit.
They took the sofa and the television.
They left the echo of the walls…
which only made it louder
tap tap tap
coming from the cupboard under the stairs.
So I opened the door
one cold winter’s day;
And I began to rummage
in the cupboard under the stairs.
tap tap tap
coming from in here.
How many boxes did I find
during that long winter?
What strange relics came to light
in the course of the dig!
tap tap tap
coming from in here.
Tons of stuff came out
of this dark cupboard:
Old things, broken things,
ugly things, useless things;
The scrap-heap of a lifetime
tap tap tap
coming from in here.
Many a time I thought
I had got to the bottom of it.
Only to hear once more
tap tap tap
coming from in here.
Now the cupboard is bare…
But wait…
There is one box left,
a shoebox tied with string.
tap tap tap
coming from in here.
I take the box out.
tap tap tap
I am filled with dread.
tap tap tap
I pull the string.
tap tap tap
I lift the lid...
